


Think Twice

by Michdelanoche



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Angst, Backstory, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dialogue, Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Fate & Destiny, Feels, Fic number whatever till Silksong, Gen, Identity Issues, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Sad, Siblings, Silent Protagonist, Tags May Change, This is my Grimm/Ghost feels disguised as a greater plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 46,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24177160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michdelanoche/pseuds/Michdelanoche
Summary: Age old traditions dictate that the youngest child will be next in line for the throne. Enter Ghost—a silent, but totally feeling knight in training, and the future ruler of Hallownest. Child of the Pale King and the White Lady, they believe their heart to be for the kingdom. However, a trip to the circus in the lowly town of Dirtmouth shifts their perspective, and purpose, in a way that was never meant to be.
Relationships: Broken Vessel | Lost Kin & The Knight, Brumm & The Knight (Hollow Knight), Grimm & The Knight (Hollow Knight), Grimm/The Knight (Hollow Knight), The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & The Knight, The Knight & Nailmaster Mato (Hollow Knight), The Pale King/White Lady (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 115
Kudos: 330





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey readers!  
> Some things to note:  
> Characters not mentioned in the tags will be making appearances.  
> The Lost Kin/Broken Vessel's name is Monarch. I named them that because we find the Monarch Wings near them in the game.  
> The Hollow Knight's name is Hollow, and the Knight's is Ghost.  
> In this story, the Hollow Knight and Lost Kin use he/him pronouns, & the Knight goes by they/them.  
> Also, I've decided to make higher beings different from gods/goddesses. PK and the White Lady for example are higher beings, while the Radiance is a goddess.  
> This is an alternate universe, with its own plot points and such. Many elements are from the og game though, of course.  
> That's all for now, thank you sm if you've decided to read! :).

Hallownest’s culture says that parents learn from their oldest. The youngest child is viewed to be more ‘perfect’, as parents believe that the mistakes they made with their other children won’t be repeated; the youngest is supposed to be a paragon.

In choosing a new ruler, there’s no room for error, especially in the grooming of the future leader of Hallownest.

\--

_ “Your child may stray from the path, so I ask this of you, though you do not have to comply.” _

_ “Yes, Seer?” _

_ “Let silence be their voice.” _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Think Twice progresses, I'll occasionally pick out "themes" for a particular chapter or character.  
> The theme I've picked out for the story as a whole is:  
> "Dreaming" by Herajika Tracks, as I tend to listen to that song when I write this story, and the title also fits with what will go on.  
> All credit for the songs chosen goes to their respective artists.

The sound of nails clashing filled the air in the sumptuous White Palace. It was time for Ghost’s four o’clock nail lesson with Nailmaster Mato. Mato had been training Ghost ever since they were old enough to understand what a nail even was. 

Mato was a burly bug with a sweet personality. He was specifically chosen to train Ghost due to him being the pupil of the famed Great Nailsage. The Nailsage himself was in no condition to be training anyone—his story was truly unfortunate. 

Ghost and Mato grew very close in all their years together. Mato even dared to say that he viewed Ghost like his own child, though he would never admit that in front of the White Lady. She was a stern creature, who made it her mission to watch Ghost’s nail lessons with a beady eye. If she was unable to do so, she sent the King’s head servant to make sure Ghost wasn’t fooling around and wasting time. She knew Mato would try to give Ghost more leisure time than was required, and she wouldn’t stand for it. In her eyes, she only had her child’s best interests at heart.

The White Room was where Ghost and Mato trained tirelessly; it was a spacious, white room that possessed no tables, nor seating. It had sizable windows to let in fresh air, but its purpose was to provide enough room for Ghost and their siblings to train. The window’s drapes were silver and beautiful, with their side panels cascading down and barely hitting the porcelain floor. To the far end of the room was a small but noticeable metal framed picture of the Radiance, the goddess of light.

An hour had passed, and it was the end of Ghost and Mato’s lesson. They bowed to each other, with Mato bowing to the White Lady before exiting the room. Truly, he would have loved to hug Ghost after every single lesson (and he did when the King’s head servant was watching), but he couldn’t if the White Lady was around. She thought it unnecessary contact from someone who was just supposed to be a teacher.

“Are you tired?” said the White Lady to Ghost, who nodded in response. “Then you should go to your quarters and nap, before we dine.”

And Ghost did just that. They lied on their bed, feeling happy at the fact that they were close to mastering Mato’s cyclone slash. Just a few more lessons and they’d be there. Ghost was sad because they didn’t get to hug Mato, though. It wasn’t a big deal—but Ghost wondered—if it wasn’t a big deal, why did it bother them so? The Pale King told Ghost not to ponder on things that wouldn’t push them to become a better ruler. It wasn’t just one time though, but for as long as Ghost could remember. Eventually, recalling their father’s words became instinct.

The day in which Ghost would become the ruler of Hallownest drew nearer, and they couldn’t wait. It was what they were born to do, what they would be good at. To lead bugs, insects, and other creatures to greatness, to see your kingdom flourish right before your very eyes—what could be better than that?

\----------

The Art Room—it was Monarch’s favorite place to be in. When he grew to love art, he couldn’t quite remember, but something about it called out to his heart. The paintings, collages, statues and murals in the Art Room were all so skillfully made. Monarch’s most adored piece was the collage which subtly detailed the creation of Hallownest by the Radiance. At first glance, it appeared to be a multitude of landscapes with bugs strewn about; upon further inspection though, a story was revealed. As a hatchling, he tried to recreate the piece with crayons, but wasn’t at all successful. Now though, the situation was completely different. Any creature with eyes could see that Monarch was an art prodigy. Being good at something didn’t necessarily mean it was your destiny, though. That’s what the Pale King told Monarch from the get go, but he didn’t listen. He never did, and his frequent trips to the Art Room were proof of that. The Pale King wanted Monarch in the White Room, but Monarch wanted himself elsewhere.

\----------

“Hi, come visit us, we have a show tomorrow,” a shrill voice said gleefully, giving a short bug a flyer.

Myla took the flyer, intrigued. ‘The Scarlet Flame’s Delight: The Grimm Troupe,’ it read. 

_“Ah, I’ve never been to a circus before, I could use a break from that shell-breaking mining.”_

Myla stepped into her house and greeted her friend Tuk, whom she lived with. “Hey Tuk, there’s a circus in town, did you see?”

Tuk finished eating her rancid egg, much to Myla’s dismay. She hated when Tuk ate those.

“Oh, yeah—yeah, I saw. They set their tents not too far from here. Yeah, let’s go,” Tuk said in between bites of her egg. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full!”

“Th-thorry!” said Tuk, still chewing on the gooey egg.

\----------

“Master, I gave out 50 more flyers today, aren’t we getting so popular?” a voice coed from behind the shadows.

“Divine, I don’t know what it is that you do to garner us all this attention, but it’s working,” said Grimm, who was hanging from the tent’s ceiling. “Brumm cannot be on flyer duty, he scares everyone off—he is too gruff and intimidating.” 

Brumm stepped out from inside a room, playing his accordion loudly. “Mmm, am I intimidating, or are they intimidated?” 

Divine laughed, “Same difference.” 

“Nonsense,” said Brumm, who went to sit on a wooden stool.

Grimm hovered down from the ceiling, landing gracefully in front of Brumm, who acknowledged him. “Okay Brumm, because you can’t be trusted with giving out flyers, why don’t you simply post these around this dreary town?” 

Grimm handed Brumm a few papers, who took them without opposition. “Mmm, right away.” 

He set down his accordion and went to leave the tent, only to stop in his tracks after reading the flyers. “Master, new recruits?” 

“Yes, why not? I grow tired of you both,” Grimm teased.

“Are you sure? I mean—” 

“It’ll be fine, Brummie,” hissed Divine. “I want more fun around here, what’s the harm? The circus isn’t for everyone, whoever comes is sure to be special.”

“Mmm, I guess.” 

Brumm walked outside and posted the first flyer right on their tent. He placed one on Divine’s tent too, and went on his way towards the local town. 

Divine looked at Grimm mischievously. “I wonder if anyone will join us? Nobody wants to be part of a circus.”

“I also wonder. Isn’t the thought so exciting?” 

“Absolutely!” purred Divine.

\----------

The Pale King coughed loudly, alerting everyone at the dinner table. The White Lady looked at him worryingly, using her arms to make a gesture where she covered her mouth.

“My apologies, it was unexpected,” said the king, taking a sip of water from his glass. 

The White Lady hummed in response. “You grow sick?”

“No, I do not believe so, it was just a chance occurrence.

The Royal Family began to eat—they ate at 7 pm every night, but not before saying a brief prayer to her greatness, the Radiance. Dinner was a three course meal, consisting of an appetizer, entre, and a small dessert. Everyone dined wordlessly, the clanking sound of tableware being the only noise heard. There was also the shuffling of the servants and guards around the palace, but that was about it. The White Palace remained relatively quiet for the most part, in comparison to a place like the capital city, the City of Tears.

“Monarch,” called the White Lady to her middle child.

“Yes?”

“Have you gone to visit the Nailsmith? Your nail grows duller and duller each time I see you,” she said with disapproval.

“Not yet, but—”

She interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. “Go tomorrow morning, please.”

He sighed quietly, “Alright.”

Once dinner finished, everyone stood up and went to their quarters. The White Lady and the Pale King resided in separate rooms that were adjacent to each other, while Hollow, Monarch, and Ghost’s rooms were further down the corridor. When they were younger, they didn’t have the liberty of visiting each other’s rooms after dinner, but now they could. All the siblings congregated in Monarch’s room to look at his most recent piece. While the Pale King disliked Monarch’s desire for art, and the White Lady remained indifferent, Ghost and Hollow were in full support of his hobby.

“This is spectacular,” marveled Hollow. She never said it outright, but the White Lady found it quite cute that her eldest towered over his younger siblings. 

“You think so?” said Monarch bashfully, giving his painting the once over.

“I know so!” Hollow affirmed with a thumbs up.

“Ghost, what do you think?” 

The youngest simply stared at Monarch and nodded fervently, and their brother smiled. 

The painting depicted a lovely nighttime scenery: three bugs and one snail were sitting around a campfire, on a small stretch of land in the middle of a lake. They all had content and satisfied expressions on their faces. The lake itself was blue with a green hue, and glistened enough to look real.

“They look like they’re enjoying life,” observed Hollow.

“They really are, that was the point,” Monarch said, closing his book and putting it on a table. “I—I want to get better—at painting, I mean.”

Hollow shot Monarch a curious glance. “But you’re so good already.”

“And I can be better.”

Hollow stood up from the floor. “I believe you.”

After that, the siblings went to their respective rooms. There wasn’t much in store for Hollow and Monarch, but Ghost had another long and drawn out day ahead of them. They gazed out of their window and saw only the darkness of the Ancient Basin, where the White Palace was situated; it was lit up by a few lamps and luma flies.

Would they always feel a lack of anticipation for what the future holds?

Ghost let their mind wander and they thought about what was up above the basin and the City of Tears. They weren’t supposed to think about those things, but for once, Ghost decided to provide themselves with much needed respite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked this in the comments, and I apologize for the lack of clarification—Ghost isn't as small as he is in the game, but he's not taller than PK (or is roughly his size) or THK.  
> My next fic will be Mister Mushroom x Grimm, stay tuned.

Grimm, Brumm, and Divine weren’t the only members of their Troupe; there were also the Grimmsteeds, and a few other creatures who came in various shapes and sizes. They may have been a small group, but they loved to put on grand performances. 

Incidentally, the trio came from the same land—one that was distant and unknown to the folks of Hallownest. One way or another, Brumm and Divine found their way to Grimm, and the rest was history.

Divine’s voice was piercing and beautiful—piercing and beautiful enough to shatter glass, in fact. The bug herself was considered to be extremely gorgeous. Those who met her couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her bewitching personality.

Grimm was a bit of a humbug, and also garnered attention from his alluring eye color and overall appearance. He was tall and imposing, but charming and gentle, too. He could act a fool, but was clever at his core. Grimm always knew what to say, and when to say it. Needless to say, Grimm captivated bugs everywhere he went. The Troupe Leader was also skilled in combat, and possessed power over fire.

Brumm was proficient with his accordion—he always was. No bug or other living creature could play an accordion as well as Brumm did, and he knew it; Brumm always graced a place with the perfect ambience.

Everything seemed to have happened overnight—meeting Divine, then meeting Brumm, and forming an odd bond that eventually led to the creation of the Troupe. How many performances have they put on since then?

Grimm remembered faces, the inhabitants, the landscapes, but the actual names of the lands he visited were hard to recall.

The Troupe Leader thinks he used to do service in a tavern—but that memory was fast fading.

Brumm was a nomad musician in his own land, so being in a troupe didn’t feel very different. He just did what he was supposed to do—what he was called to do.

Divine used to live a simple life, too, in a cottage with her elder sister. Then, she left without a word.

_“Burn the father,”_

_“Feed the child.”_

\----------

“What a shame,” said the White Lady. She sat down at the dining table to join the Pale King for their usual noon tea. It was just the two of them—they may have been solemn rulers, but they cherished their time together.

The Pale King handed his wife a steaming cup. “What happened?”

“Mato will not be able to make it today—ah, this tea is delicious.”

The king quirked a brow, “What do you mean? That is the second time this week. Do I not give him enough geo?”

The queen took a loud sip of her tea and chuckled airily; her husband shot her a dissatisfied look. 

“Oops,” she whispered. “But I don’t know, he wouldn’t say. I didn’t pry—wow, this tea is so exquisite! What’s in it?”

He huffed, “It's a delicate flower’s tea. If this continues, then I’d rather not enlist his services—I mean it. Time cannot afford to be wasted.”

“I agree. We will have to have a private talk with him.” 

The Pale King chugged his scalding tea, and his wife laughed. “You complain about me taking loud sips? Look at you, you grub.”

“It’s been a long day.” 

“...It’s only 12:30 pm.”

\----------

Ghost didn’t have to train with Mato today, but that didn’t mean they had free time; the Pale King sent them out to the dusky tunnels below the palace, which teemed with brutes and other mindless creatures.

_“Slay all of these beasts. I’ll be able to tell if you get hurt, so don’t. Come back once you’ve finished. I’ve a special gift for you.”_

The knight was careful in how they fought their battles. They didn’t let themselves be cornered, and never turned their back on an enemy. They killed the aerial ones first, then took their time with the terrestrial creatures. Their nail was long enough where they could maintain a safe distance, while still delivering lethal blows. As Ghost grew stronger in body and soul, the Pale King rewarded their efforts; the last thing the king gave his child was a shamanic spell known as the vengeful spirit.

Two lesser mawleks nearly slashed the knight’s shell—but they dashed away just in time and released the spell from their body—effectively destroying them. After a few hours, Ghost finished their task and left the caverns.

“You’ve a scratch on your shell,” chided the king. Ghost lowered their gaze apologetically. 

“If I let myself be hurt by these lowly creatures, do you think I would be alive now? Your performance today is lacking. I’d expect this substandard swordsmanship from a common bug, but you? You were given all of the resources since day one. Do the flaws of your siblings not mean anything? Bear responsibility for them—observe them and learn.”

Ghost maintained their bearing, but it wasn’t like they could say much anyway. They knew better than to defy a higher being, who just so happened to be their father. They met the Pale King’s eyes in a way that said, “I’ll do better.”

Ghost and the Pale King walked to the palace in silence, and also went to their quarters without saying a word to each other.

_“Ghost cannot afford to be the way they are. One mistake is all it takes. I do it for you, Ghost, though you do not see it.”_

But the knight saw it all, with crystal clear eyes; they understood their father’s reasoning, but was that an excuse for the king to chastise them the way they did?

\----------

“Pea—” 

“It’s Sweet Pea, Grimm.”

“Sweet Pea,” asked Grimm. “How are you faring with your practice?”

A tiny termite—about the size of Grimm’s hand, finished a somersault and landed perfectly poised. “Practice is wonderful, just like me. Aren’t I just the most amazing acrobat?”

“Not even in your dreams,” announced a soft voice. It was Mar—the butterfly of the Troupe, who had a knack for theatre. “I’ve seen better.”

Sweet Pea rolled her eyes, “First of all, you act, you’ve no right to speak on acrobatics. Go back to walking around stupidly—”

Before Sweet Pea could finish her sentence, Mar flapped their spotted wings and sent the tiny insect flying. “Oh, Pea, such big words from an insect who flys away with a wind speed of one mile per hour.”

The Troupe Master couldn’t help but fall into a fit of laughter. “Wh-where did Pea go?” he said shakily, trying to catch his breath.

The termite fell into a pile of leaves; they rustled momentarily, and then Sweet Pea leapt out and perched herself on the ground with a handstand.

Grimm and Mar clapped slowly, and Pea bowed. “Thank you, I learned from the best.”

“And who would that be?” questioned the butterfly. 

“Me?” Pea deadpanned. “Oh yeah. Master, did anybody take up our offer?”

The Troupe Leader pursed their lips, “Actually, two bugs did come by to inquire of it, but I think Brumm scared them off.”

Without notice, the musician entered the tent and chimed in on the conversation. “Mmm, did I scare them off, or were they scared?”

“So so, so ungracious, aren’t you?” Mar said volubly.

“Speak for yourself,” retorted Brumm. “Mmm, if they were scared off so easily, that means we didn’t want them in the first place. This isn’t a playground.”

A scuttling sound across the floor notified the Troupe of another member’s appearance. It was Sincere, a bulky scorpion who glowed as brightly as a firefly. “If not a playground, then what are we?”

Brumm played his instrument and hummed to the song; it sounded frenzied, but grew more harmonious. “You know what we are—duty calls.”

\----------

“Studying the ancient civilizations today, Ghost?” asked Quirrel, the knight’s childhood friend. Quirrel also happened to be the apprentice of Monomon, a chief researcher in the land of Hallownest. The pill bug made his living in the Grand Library of the White Palace, which contained all sorts of research, books, and historical documents. Supposedly, it contained treasure, and other secrets—but those were just rumors.

Ghost nodded, and gestured for Quirrel to sit down with them. Quirrel surveyed the library before deciding that it was okay to do so. “Sorry, but her highness can be a bit...overbearing.”

He made sure to say the last part of that sentence quietly.

Ghost was always in the White Palace because they were the child of the Pale King, and Quirrel was in the palace because he was Monomom’s apprentice. They met when Ghost started their studies in the library, long ago; while the White Lady wasn’t necessarily content with their friendship, she saw no harm in being acquainted with a scholar. Quirrel was fairly close to Hollow and Monarch, as well.

“You know,” said Quirrel, “Hollow came to visit the other day. He was looking for an art book. I didn’t know Hollow liked art?”

Ghost shook their head and pulled out a piece of paper from their satchel, along with a quill. It wasn’t the knight’s preferred method of communication, but sometimes they liked to write. Quirrel waited for Ghost to finish writing before reading it. It read:

**“It was for Monarch. He loves to paint. But our mother and the king do not support his hobbies.”**

The pill bug frowned. “That’s no good. I don’t see why—”

But Quirrel stopped mid sentence and pondered on it. His own parents were common bugs, who just wished for their children to be happy. When Quirrel’s brilliance caught Monomon’s attention, of course they jumped at the opportunity to support their son. Not only would Quirrel be working for a chief researcher, he would be closer to their dear king as a result. 

But the Pale King and the White Lady were not common bugs, they were higher beings. Already, Quirrel and Monarch’s circumstances were different. Then Quirrel thought about Ghost; they were supposed to fit the role of another higher being—someone who wasn’t god, but was totally godlike. To set the example of a perfect creature—one who was radiant and utterly powerful—who could never lead their kingdom to misfortune and calamity. 

Did a higher being transcend all the regularities of a normal creature? How long would it take before they attained the status of a god, who was an entirely incomprehensible entity on their own?

Ghost poked Quirrel with their quill, and the bug jumped. “Sorry, I got severely lost in thought. Forgive me, my friend?”

And Ghost did, because they knew Quirrel meant no harm. The knight slouched against the bug’s shoulder, and Quirrel smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

_“Enlighten us.”_

_“Your Majesty...”_

_“Destiny…”_

_“...SAVE_ —”

Ghost’s eyes shot wide open; they looked around and checked the time on their clock: it was only 6:00 pm. They think they fell asleep some time after leaving the library. The knight decided they’d take a walk around the palace; the strange dream they just awoke from made them feel ill at ease.

The White Palace was enormous, but the knight knew every one of its nooks and crannies. Their favorite place to rest was a bench that was in a near vacant part of the palace; servants and such hardly ever passed through the area.

“Isma, did you see that circus?” 

“Circus? I didn’t, where is it?”

Out of the corner of their eye, the knight saw Isma and Dryya, two of Hallownest’s Great Knights. They were a force to be reckoned with, and were fiercely loyal to the king. 

But what was this about a circus? Ghost only ever saw those in books at the library—they hardly left the palace. 

“That crummy little town near—young Ghost? My apologies, I didn’t see you,” Dryya said, bowing. 

Isma almost gasped, and she bowed too. “Forgive us, your highness.”

The knight just stared at them. They wanted them to keep talking about the so-called “circus.”

Ghost pointed at Dryya, who looked at them in confusion. “Yes? What is it, your greatness? Is there something I can do for you?”

There was, actually. Ghost didn’t have their paper and quill to write on, but they pointed to the area where Dryya’s mouth was. She gave Isma a sheepish look, “I do not understand…”

A light bulb went off in Isma’s head. “I think I do! Your highness...you want us to train you?”

The knight shot them an exasperated look—not that they could tell, though. _That_ wasn’t it. 

“Right now?” said Dryya. “Ah, but don’t you dine soon? Would we have time?”

Isma pulled Dryya aside. “This is a wonderful opportunity—I don’t think I’ve ever seen young Ghost in battle! They must be stronger than us!”

Dryya, who was extremely skilled herself, was doubtful of that. “I don’t know, Isma. We aren’t here to spar with his Majesty’s children—”

While Isma and Dryya continued their chitter-chatter, Ghost walked away, unbeknownst to the two knights. 

“And only I wield a nail...would that be too much?” said Dryya worriedly. 

“Ghost is being trained marvelously by the king—and they’re this kingdom’s future! Nothing should be too much for them to handle! Ghost—eh? Where did they go?”

\----------

Maybe Ghost could ask Quirrel or Monarch about the circus. Where did Dryya say it was? A crummy town? Where though?

Right when the knight was about to turn the corner, they saw their older brother fly through a window. 

Monarch was shocked to see his sibling, but was relieved that it wasn't the king or queen. “Ghost...no suspicious activity going on here. I thought I’d get some fresh air. You know I like that simpleness.”

Ghost nodded, but then, an idea came to mind. Could Monarch get them outside, too? The knight looked at the window. Freedom seemed so close, yet so far. 

But what business did they have being out of the palace, trying to find a circus?

Monarch noticed their sibling staring out the window, and he knew just what they wanted. He used to want it, too—before he started sneaking out regularly. Not that the king or queen could, _or would_ stop him from leaving the palace. They were more interested in keeping Ghost glued to their duties, rather than Hollow or Monarch. 

He decided he’d give Ghost a chance—they could take care of themselves. Ghost may have been unaware of the world outside the palace, but they were by no means a fool or weak. Perhaps Ghost could even find themselves a cartographer, and obtain a map of their own, like Monarch did. 

“Okay Ghost, it’s really quite simple. Simpler than nail arts, and learning the tactics and history of kingdoms and civilizations past.”

Ghost gazed at their brother expectantly.

“All you have to do—” Monarch climbed onto the wall, and jumped up and up; then, he flew out the window with a flap of his monarch wings. Ghost waited for him to come back, and he did a few seconds later.

“Easy enough, right? And there’s no guards outside, it’s our lucky day. Now you try it.”

Ghost fell at first, but replicated their brother’s movements in the next attempt. Once they were outside, they were greeted by the chilly air and darkness of the Ancient Basin. 

“You be careful now! I’ll find a reason to excuse your absence at the dinner table!” shouted Monarch from inside the palace.

Monarch, Hollow, and Ghost were higher beings, just like their parents—but they were quite different. The aristocrats of Hallownest joked that they behaved more like common bugs than royalty, or higher beings. 

But every creature was their own individual—higher beings weren’t excluded from this rule.

Ghost descended into the darkness; they weren’t sure how they’d find the crummy town Dryya spoke of, but they would. Ghost knew of the stag stations, which took the citizens of Hallownest wherever they pleased. If they could just find one, the rest would be fairly simple. Ghost carried all the necessities needed to survive Hallownest: their nail, and plenty of geo. 

With a bit of luck, Ghost was able to find the stag station. In spite of the fact that there were other bugs present, nobody seemed to pay much mind to Ghost. Only a few creatures actually knew what the Pale King’s children looked like; not many got to see the Pale King, either.

One bug rang the bell, and the ground began rumbling—a stag beetle galloped out of the caverns.

“Dirtmouth bound, Dirtmouth bound,” announced the stag. 

The ground shook again, and another stag appeared out of the darkness. “Those who wish to pay their respects at the Resting Grounds, please come this way.”

The knight had absolutely no idea where they were headed, but they decided to try their luck with Dirtmouth; besides, it didn’t seem likely that a circus would be in a resting ground.

After boarding, Ghost took in their surroundings; there were various bugs, many who looked like they were dozing off; nobody spoke to each other. All that was heard was the echoing of the running beetle, who occasionally heaved or spoke to themselves. 

\----------

With the exception of Ghost, everyone was seated for dinner. Palace servants diligently set the table, bringing over plates, food, and other necessary wares. The White Lady was the first one to notice her child’s absence.

“Where is Ghost?” she questioned crossly.

Monarch quickly responded, “They...are training with Isma and Dryya.” 

“Training with Isma and Dryya? I was not aware that they were responsible for training Ghost,” said the king. “Isma and Dryya have their own duties to take care of.”

Hollow ate silently, listening in on the conversation. Ghost _never_ missed dinner; something was amiss. 

Monarch cleared his throat, “Ghost wanted to know more about the plans to advance into Deepnest—I guess, they ended up sparring after conversing?”

“Do you lie to me, child?” said the king, hard and unsmiling. 

Monarch was a sneak; his face didn’t betray his voice, or vice versa.

“No,” he said simply, taking a drink of his tea.

“Then I expect them and Hollow to advise us tomorrow; Deepnest is sacred territory, but their resources are even more so. We’d be wise to seek them.”

“And the spider tribe?” questioned the White Lady. “An unyielding bunch, aren’t they? Herrah has my respect for such great leadership. I hear her eldest is a competent fighter.”

“Naturally,” said the king. 

Monarch and Hollow’s eyes met; it was like they wanted to say something, but weren’t sure of what to say.

The Pale King followed their quizzical gazes, but didn’t acknowledge them verbally.

“Enough talk. Let us eat peacefully.”

\----------

“I’m so excited!” Myla beamed. “I mean, how long has it been since something interesting happened?” 

Tuk just finished entering their shared home; she had been in the Junk Pit, scavenging for stuff that she and Myla could use. They were poor, as were most of the folks in Dirtmouth, so they had to be more resourceful. 

Tuk placed her enormous bag on the ground. “Yeah, me too. By the way, look what I found today.”

She held up a large piece of geo, and Myla stared at it in wonder. “Oh my! It’s not often you find so much geo. Was this at the Junk Pit? Or elsewhere?”

Tuk placed the geo in their green cupboard. “Well, I went to the east part of the capital city—yeah,” she chuckled. “Some poor soul dropped it while they were walking.”

“I mean I don’t know about poor, but I'm sure they won’t miss it,” said Myla. “I saw a cute lamp the other day, made of the crystals at Crystal Peak. Maybe we can buy it? To spruce this place up?”

“Yeah, I don’t see why not,” Tuk said loosely. “Some dude came from outside Hallownest—he demanded a home. I almost bumped into him on the way here, and he cursed me. He had a big attitude for being so short.”

Myla hated mean bugs, so this was news to her. “Oh did he? Where is he? Should I teach him a lesson?” 

“Yeah—wait no. It’s okay. Let’s just go to that circus, the show should be starting soon.”

Myla and Tuk weren’t the only bugs going to the Grimm Troupe’s performance; many others in Dirtmouth were intrigued, and wanted to see for themselves. Some bugs came from the local village in the Crossroads, and others came all the way from the City of Tears. Word of the mysterious scarlet circus had spread like wildfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	5. Chapter 5

“Hollow,” called the Pale King; the family had finished dining not too long ago. While the White Lady and Monarch went their ways, the king wanted to discuss some matters with his son.

“Yes, father?” said Hollow. 

“I’ve a task for you—but you won’t be going alone. Ogrim shall accompany you. Go to Deepnest, and watch the tramway’s operation. The spider tribe has not made themselves known yet, but I’m sure that they watch us under the cloak of darkness.”

“Right away,” Hollow said, turning to walk away. “Father?”

“What is it, Hollow?” 

“...Do I know Herrah’s eldest?”

Hollow looked at his father, but they were already on their way. “I don’t answer silly questions, Hollow. Ogrim awaits you outside the palace—you know he hates waiting. Hurry.”

\----------

The stag arrived at Dirtmouth soon after leaving. Everyone disembarked, and Ghost followed.

A bug who walked behind Ghost couldn’t help but notice the Pale King’s symbol on the hilt of their nail. They tried to get a better look, but Ghost blended in with a crowd at Dirtmouth’s station.

Dirtmouth was a reasonably sized town; the homes were round and plain looking. There were some big houses, but they weren’t complex in architecture like they were in the City of Tears. Street lamps lined the sidewalks, and certain areas had garden borders with greenery and yellow dandelions. There were scraggly street bulletins here and there, and a few shops with colorful exteriors. One read “Maps and Wares” and another said “Miscellaneous.”

Ghost spotted the Grimm Troupe’s scarlet tents off in the distance, and they sauntered in their direction;  _ that  _ looked like it might be a circus.

Bugs and other creatures came and went; some went towards King’s Pass, and others went into their unsophisticated homes. There were miners who strode to Crystal Peak, and elders who lounged on rusty benches. The knight got a taste of Dirtmouth’s amicable tenor, but didn’t really know what to make of it.

“Are you headed to the circus, too?” crooned a voice. 

The knight turned around, and a pink slug crawled next to them. “Aren’t you just a stunner, dearie?”

Ghost felt fairly confused.  _ A what? _

“That nail—that cloak, oh, your very demeanor! It’s enough to make me swoon!”

No bug or creature had ever spoken to the knight in such a way; the only compliments Ghost received were for their occasional sagacity, skills with the nail, and their ability to listen and follow directions. The slug’s words felt strange, but weren’t unwelcome.

_ “Relations with common folk are valuable tools—you must be revered, not feared. Remember that.” _

The Pale King’s words echoed in the knight’s head, and they bowed their head to the slug, who squealed. “Oh, dearie! I think I might be in love—with you!”

Ghost didn’t know much about love, only that they loved their siblings, the king, and queen. How could someone they just met be in love with them already?

“Oh look, dearie, we’ve arrived! Let’s go!”

The slug and Ghost headed inside, where a ladybug was collecting geo for admission. Said ladybug was Fleur, another member of the Troupe. 

“Cute lil’ couple, aren’t ya?” Fleur teased upon seeing the duo.

“Two of you...that’ll be 100 geo.”

In a flash, the knight handed Fleur more geo than the admission required—about 200 more, to be precise.

“Oy, this isn’t—”

But Ghost and the slug already advanced further into the tent, and Fleur chuckled. 

“No one has eva’ complained about more money,” she said, stuffing the geo into a velvet case.

The Grimm Troupe’s tent was almost filled to max capacity; makeshift seats creaked, and were separated from the area where the Troupe would perform with a circus ring. Torches lit up by scarlet colored flames hung from the ceiling, and banners with a single emblem were suspended on the walls; all the decorations complemented each other in color scheme.

The audience babbled on and on, until the lights dimmed, and they began to whisper.

A black figure materialized in the center of the ring—it was Grimm; his deep set eyes locked with a few of the audience’s, and then with Ghost’s. The Troupe Master smirked, and vanished.

Grimm appeared again, but was hovering above the ground this time. Flames circled around him steadily, and they dispersed towards the audience—everyone gasped, but the fire faded away before it could cause any harm.

“Welcome to the Troupe, everyone,” said Grimm.

“Make yourselves at home. Without further ado, let’s begin.”

An accordion began playing softly; the music sounded roguish, and was quite circus-like, too. 

A ring of fire spawned—it pulsated before changing into a spiral that contracted over and over again.

Pea made her debut; the insect vaulted through each of the openings in quick succession. Miraculously, she managed to spring between the smallest coil inside the spiral. The fire grazed her abdomen, but didn’t cause significant damage.

“Oh my! I hope she’s okay!” exclaimed Myla. 

Fleur entered the scene. Her wings and elytra opened, and she began to fly around the tent. 

The Troupe Master shot flames at breakneck speed, and Fleur evaded them swiftly. Fire winded itself around each of her wings, and also danced with her in the air. 

The ladybug flew low on the ground, and Pea sprinted and jumped onto her, doing an aerial cartwheel. The termite was enveloped by a twister of fire, but emerged with Fleur, who carried her out of it.

The pink slug who sat next to Ghost clapped enthusiastically, and the knight followed her movements. “I’d die if flames touched me—but look at them! Totally fearless.”

Grimm’s low pitch voice resounded through the tent; he laughed and voiced praise at his fellow troupe members, who were performing spectacularly.

For the second time that night, Ghost and the Troupe’s Master’s gazes met, although the former looked away when they saw others come into view.

Brumm was sitting on Sincere’s tail, playing his accordion sadly. When all eyes were on the musician, he stopped playing and pointed to the ceiling. 

Down came Mar, who proceeded to engage in theatrics with Grimm. While Grimm played the role of a vicious predator who wanted to kill Mar, the butterfly was a sarcastic and zany creature that pleaded for their life.

Divine’s voice filled the space in the tent, along with Brumm’s music. The tone was somber, but amusingly so.

At the end of the act, Mar ended up revealing his defense mechanism to the predator—spotted wings, which looked like humongous eyes. Grimm fell backwards and onto the floor, vanishing into thin air yet again.

All the lighting in the tent went out, and it was pitch black. Some bugs in the audience were bewildered, and wondered if there were technical issues.

But there wasn’t—Sincere’s blue fluorescence illuminated the tent, and everyone let out shocked noises. How was he doing that?

The lights flickered on, but now, there was a heavy cloud of smokescreen. 

Ghost’s eyes darted around the tent, looking for the performers, but they were totally concealed. 

A Grimmsteed’s long neck popped out from under the veil of smoke, and they paraded out of its perimeter; Brumm was on its back, with his head bowed deferentially.

Another Grimmsteed followed the first, and Pea was on its head, doing a handstand. 

Mar and Fleur came next, fluttering their prismatic wings and humming a tune. 

Divine and Sincere walked behind them; the scorpion’s tail was wrapped around the singer’s waist, and she grinned at the crowd gleefully.

_ “She’s gorgeous!” _

_ “Her smile kills.” _

_ “Look at that stinger!” _

Finally, the master of the Grimm Troupe marched into view. He took one last look at his audience before bowing and passing from sight in an ignition of fire.

The round of applause that followed was deafening, but the spectators couldn’t help themselves; it truly was a lovely performance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	6. Chapter 6

“Ghost?”

Hollow went to go look for his youngest sibling; while the eldest was protective by nature, he also knew that Hallownest could be unforgiving. Riots among the citizens and other neighboring tribes broke out sometimes, and Hollow preferred it if Ghost wasn’t caught in such a dangerous predicament. Furthermore, certain groups held great animosity towards the aristocrats, higher ups, and the Royal Family—Hollow didn’t think they’d shy away at the opportunity to lay a finger on one of their enemies. What’s more is that there was word of another kingdom to the far west, which was closing in on Hallownest. Hollow went into his Ghost’s room, but they were nowhere to be found. He knew he shouldn’t keep Ogrim waiting, but he just couldn’t shake off the feeling which loomed in his gut.

He tried Monarch’s room, and well as his own, but there was no sign of his sibling. After walking through a few white corridors, he still couldn’t find Ghost.

“Where in Radiance’s name is that little—”

“Ahaha! I have found you, Prince Hollow!”

Ogrim’s sonorous voice was heard by the nearby servants and guards. He was a jolly fellow, and another one of Hallownest’s Great Knights; none of his companions were as loyal and devout as Ogrim was.

“Ogrim...weren’t you supposed to wait for me outside the palace?” Hollow said with slight irritability. 

“Forgive me, Prince Hollow!” Ogrim proclaimed. “His Majesty told me to come get you—let’s make haste!”

Hollow wanted to protest, but there was no arguing with Ogrim—the creature was too staunch. It was admirable, but maybe a bit over the top.

“Alright, let’s go,” said Hollow.

“Is that Ogrim and Prince Hollow?”

Hollow internally screamed.  _ Now what? _

“Is-Isma!” Ogrim stammered, fixing his posture. “It is I—I mean, us!” 

The female knight approached the duo and bowed. “Where are you headed, Prince Hollow?”

Hollow opened his mouth to respond, but Ogrim spoke instead.

“Deepnest—to watch the Tram’s operation!” he blurted out. “Those nasty little spiders, we have to watch out for them—” 

Isma placed a finger on Ogrim’s mouth and he blushed madly. “Thank you for the details, but I asked his highness.” 

The dung beetle’s crimson flush didn’t elude Hollow, and the prince laughed. “As he was saying—it is to guard the operation. I don’t expect anyone to attack us, but if they do, we’ll be ready.”

“Be careful,” said Isma. “Sources say the spiders are not the only ones who lurk down there.”

“What do you mean?” questioned the prince.

“There’s rumors that a new tribe has settled in Deepnest. Foul creatures, just like the spiders. Doesn’t matter though, they’re the same in our eyes.”

Ogrim finally composed himself and joined in on the conversation. “Ahaha! But whoever they are—they’re no match for us. We’ll take Deepnest no matter what!”

Isma nodded in agreement. “That’s what I like to hear. Hey Ogrim, what do you call a spider without a web?”

Ogrim furrowed his brows. “Uh, a maggot?”

Just then, Isma withdrew her spiked parasol and slashed at Ogrim, who ducked to avoid its barbs. “Dead!”

Though Isma and Ogrim laughed at the crude joke, Hollow felt a wire snap in his mind, and he wasn’t sure why. 

\----------

“What do you make of the Mantis Tribe?” 

“Fierce—I believe they’ve been here longer than our kingdom has,” said the king. “I’ve ruled for ages, but they never cease to put up a fight when we step into their territory.”

“They’re just like those beasts of Deepnest,” remarked the White Lady. “More civilized though, and very strong. What if they assimilated into Hallownest? I think it might prove good for us in the long run.”

The king gazed at himself in the mirror of the palace’s vestibule. “They are adamant in keeping their sovereignty. But if it’s true that the kingdom to the west seeks to close in, then the Mantis Tribe’s allyship would be most useful. We outnumber them exceedingly—enough to lay waste to their home, in fact, but I don’t think that’s necessary right now.”

The White Lady joined the king near the mirror, and they looked at each other’s reflections; both creatures were remarkably radiant. “Hm, true, but if we do not strike first, then who will? It’s a consequential question. To resist your rule would be ill-advised. But you know, interestingly enough, I think we share a common adversary...perhaps we can use that to our advantage—why do you stare at me like that?”

The Pale King may have been stern and solemn in character, but he was also a glutton, slightly jocose, and even romantic at times. If he wanted to express his endearment for the White Lady, he would. “Your eyes and beauty are so lovely, I can’t help it.”

“Ugh, you’re such a grub.”

\----------

Monarch was the least skilled with the nail out of his siblings, but he was the most nimble, in mind and speed. This quality made the prince a perfect candidate to become a Great Knight, rather than just a simple knight. In a battle of wits, Monarch was likely to win against Hollow, although the latter would surely overtake him with just sheer power. Conversely, Ghost knew how to use their nail better than Monarch or Hollow, and could also use their spells to hold all the aces.

Each sibling had their own hobby that they enjoyed: Monarch enjoyed painting, and Ghost liked writing. Hollow said he would sleep all day if he could, and also enjoyed eating—a lot. The eldest was the most social, but he also had the shortest temper. 

Monarch never felt called to his role as a knight, or in royalty; diplomacy seemed necessary, yet pointless at the same time. Similarly, why take up the nail if he didn’t like using it in the first place? Before he discovered the art of painting, he couldn’t wholeheartedly say he loved his life; even then, it was still a secret he had to keep under wraps. When he became a Great Knight, would he even have time to look for muses? 

There was still so much Monarch had to learn in painting, but he didn’t want to do it alone.

\----------

The slug who was with Ghost left shortly after the performance ended, but she gave the knight her business card, and told them they should come visit her in the Crossroads’ village.

Though their curiosity was satisfied, Ghost didn’t feel like going back to the palace quite yet.   
“Ah, why did I take this stupid paper, I hate carrying things—hey you!”

A bug scurried over to Ghost and shoved one of the Grimm Troupe’s flyers into their hands. “Take this for me, will ya? You’re a real pal, pal.” 

And then the creature left. 

Ghost studied the flyer; it had one clear message, which said that the Grimm Troupe was looking for new recruits.

The thought of even being in a circus intrigued the knight, and they wondered if it was as fun as it looked.

But they couldn’t let their mind linger on such trivial matters; now that they saw the circus, they had no reason to be in Dirtmouth. If the king found it, it would surely spell trouble.

“Mmm, I hope you’re not interested in joining us.”

The knight jumped, surprised to hear Brumm’s voice. The musician leaned against the seats, and sized up Ghost before shaking his head. “Show’s over—you should head on out. The exit is that—”

“Brumm, is this creature looking to join us?”

The Troupe Master presented himself to Ghost and Brumm—Ghost thought his eyes looked even more entrancing up close. “I’m Grimm, the leader of this little troupe. And you are?”

There was no response.

“We wouldn’t want one so rude, Master,” said Brumm.

Grimm considered Brumm’s statement before speaking. “Okay, let’s try it this way. What is your name?”

Ghost looked at the Troupe Master and shook their head.

“Master, I can kick them out—really,” Brumm necessitated. “And besides—”

Grimm motioned for the musician to stop talking, and then conjured a purple flame.

“Care to spell out your name?” he said. “The flame will follow your movements.”

And Ghost did, without delay; the fire swished around and became the letters of their name.

“Ghost?” questioned Brumm.

“Is that right?” Grimm said, twinkling at Ghost. “I quite like that name.”

Maybe it was the way the Troupe Master spoke, but his compliment sounded sincere enough to make the knight feel strange—like when the slug complimented them.

“What do you say, Brumm, let’s give them a chance?”

The musician wasn’t at all pleased, but he agreed. 

“Let’s dance, Ghost.” 

And then, The Troupe Master attacked, opening his cloak to project spherules of fire at the knight. Ghost dodged and sprung towards Grimm, unsheathing their nail in the process. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea what Isma's weapon is in the actual game but parasols are cute and u can kick ass with them in ssbs so fuck it Isma gets a parasol.


	7. Chapter 7

The fight between Grimm and Ghost lasted no longer than five minutes; initially, the knight had the upper hand, but something in Grimm’s demeanor changed. He no longer laughed and applauded Ghost whenever they struck him, but instead remained speechless and stormed to break their defenses without relenting even a bit. His aura grew more sinister by the second, as did his power and speed—it all happened too quickly, and too sharply. Although Ghost tried to parry one of Grimm’s kicks with their nail, the collision knocked it out of their hands and sent it flying. When the knight moved to unleash a burst of their vengeful spirit, Grimm outmaneuvered them and swatted them with his arm. Ghost recoiled backwards, and Grimm summoned a ray of fire that scorched their cloak and mask. The knight was successful in dodging another beam of fire, and even managed to land a hit on Grimm with their spell. Hastily, Ghost dashed towards their nail and grabbed hold of it. They sidestepped the flames that discharged from Grimm’s cloak, and in a split second, hurled their nail at the Troupe Master; he was caught off guard, and attempted to disappear, but Ghost’s vengeful spirit collided with him. Grimm lurched forward and tumbled onto the ground.

Brumm watched the entire battle keenly, keeping an especially close eye on his master. The moment when Grimm’s power seemed to burgeon was when he felt worry seep into his body, though it melted away when Ghost fought back more forcefully.

“Master...have you been beat?”

\----------

Deepnest was different from all other locations in Hallownest; it was generally uncultivated, off the beaten track, and was home to the Spider tribe and the Weavers. They worshipped Herrah, who was their queen, and refused to submit to the Pale King’s rule. In the past, Deepnest also had its sire, although he died from a profound sickness. Herrah and the king of Deepnest had a daughter, who was named Webb. Webb was only half sisters with Hornet, but they were very close and bonded together often. While the Spiders and Weavers of Deepnest crafted Webb’s weapon that she'd use in the future, the child watched her sister train with older members of the tribe. Hornet took up a needle and thread, and Webb would do the same. 

Hornet was nimble, cunning, and often gave enemies the slip because of how fast she was. She may not have been the strongest, but she knew how to use her needle and thread in tandem, and that’s what made Hornet a formidable foe. 

When Hornet wasn’t training, she liked to journal and make little crafts out of various materials. Recently, she made Webb a flower out of silk, and sewed it onto the hem of her cloak.

The tribes of Deepnest heard that the kingdom of Hallownest was attempting to construct a tramway, which would allow them a way to access the caves with relative ease. Nobody was content about it, especially older members of the Spiders and Weavers.

“Queen Herrah, surely we cannot let those creatures build into our territory—they view us as uncouth and barbaric, yet dare to step into our homes. If they seek our service and worship, then they’re fools,” said one Weaver.

“We only follow you, Herrah!” said another. 

As a queen, Herrah was resolute, but not very severe like the White Lady was. She was a compassionate creature, some of that compassion having come from the fact that Herrah didn’t technically come from a higher caste. She often felt conflicted in how to deal with the kingdom of Hallownest and the Mantis Tribe, but she never looked back once a decision was made. Herrah couldn’t allow her lands to be desecrated, nor could she allow future generations of Spiders and Weavers to fall into danger.

In the Distant Village, where many homes were constructed of webs and cocoons, Herrah and others gathered to deliberate on the tramway’s establishment. 

“If I may, mother,” said Hornet, “we needn’t kill them, only chase them off—but if they think we plan on playing it safe, then they’re dead wrong.”

Everyone cheered the princess on, and little Webb looked at her in admiration. 

“I want to be strong and confident like sis when I’m the queen,” she whispered to a young spider.

“You’ll be just as strong and confident, if not more so!” they declared fiercely. “I mean, you two together? We will thrive!”

Herrah appraised her daughter’s suggestion before speaking. “It’s a wild world out there, Hornet. Death is constant—it’s a part of life, and it’s also a consequence. In a world where we must protect our own so furiously, I do not want to hold back if it means losing touch with our freedom, even the slightest. Do you all know who is more precious than the web where the eggs lay to rest?”

The Spiders and Weavers pondered on their queen’s question, but gave no response.

Then Herrah made her statement; it was one that lacked no conviction, and held great belief in solidarity. “The ones who protect the web. So all of you, those who wish to spy and fight if need be, go and let our attitudes be known. Go and tell the kingdom of Hallownest about the Spiders and Weavers.”

Both tribes acclaimed their queen’s words, and set out to do just that. Hornet and Webb stood around with their mother just a bit longer than the others, though.

“Hornet,” Herrah expressed gently, “you...have shown everyone here so much, you know?

The princess adjusted the needle on her back and glanced at her mother with softness.

“I don’t think Deepnest has ever seen a protector so fervid, so sympathetic, too. You make us feel proud, strong, and hopeful.”

“I do what I must for my and their wellbeing,” said Hornet. “Yours especially, mother, and Webb’s, most of all.”

“I’m important?” mused Webb.

“Silly child, we would have thrown you to the beasts if you weren’t.”

With that, Hornet propelled her needle forward and sprung away. 

\----------

Monarch was frustrated to say the least.

His painting seemed even more streaky than usual—and he unknowingly dipped into the color white and ruined his latest work.

The background was supposed to have been a solid black color (because it was a portrait) but now there was large smudge that rubbed the prince in all the wrong ways.

He didn’t want to start over, but he also spent an hour drawing the bug who would be the portrait’s face, and felt like his hard work was going to waste.

“Songstress Marissa, I...ruined your beautiful picture! Forgive me, queen.” 

Now the painting wasn’t actually for Songstress Marissa, but Monarch loved the sound of her voice—and said that he’d marry her in a heartbeat if he could. They never interacted once, though the prince was sure that the rose she threw during one of her shows was for _him_ , and not some lucky creature in the audience.

_“She threw it in my direction!”_

_“There’s about 50 other bugs in this direction, too,” Hollow pointed out._

_“Yeah but I’m the prince.”_

_“Not today, you aren’t.”_

The prince sighed and gave one last, longing look at his painting before diving into bed. He looked at his nail (which was still worn out) and decided he’d visit the Nailsmith the following day. Recently, the king gifted him a rare pale ore and told him that it was for his nail. Monarch was tempted to use it for jewelry, but decided that it was wiser to make his blade stronger (lest he get another mouthful from the White Lady).

“I wonder if Ghost is back yet,” Monarch said to himself quietly.

\----------

Once Grimm recovered from Ghost’s shrewd attack, he stood up and bowed. He was indeed beaten.

“You’re very skilled,” Grimm said to Ghost. “I had a lot of fun—maybe we can do that again sometime.”

 _“...Again?”_ thought Brumm antagonistically.

Even before Grimm’s invitation, Ghost thought about returning to Dirtmouth to explore the rest of the town. They _weren’t_ supposed to, but if they were successful today, then they were confident that they’d be successful again. The fight with Grimm was admittedly exhilarating, and the only other time Ghost came close to feeling that way was when they trained with Mato. The Troupe’s performance was interesting, but even more interesting was the leader himself—that’s what Ghost thought.

The knight was well aware that their duties as future ruler were more important than anything else, but the rush they experienced today was unlike any they’ve ever experienced before. Now that they thought about it, the knight almost never felt that way; feelings and emotions seemed to fleet away as quickly as they came, even if Ghost was inclined to hold onto them. Sometimes, Ghost didn’t feel a particular way towards something at all—it was like they stared at a blank piece of paper and never got bored. It was a strange phenomena.  
“Well what have we here?” lilted Divine. “Master, who’s this creature with the empty face?”

“Mmm, a lost child,” said Brumm; he walked over to the wooden stool where his accordion was and began playing. “So very lost.”

Divine’s voice caught the attention of the other members, and they all peeled out from the back of the tent to observe the new face. 

“This is Ghost,” Grimm said. “We danced today, didn’t we Brumm?”

“They did,” he replied.

The first to approach Ghost was Fleur, followed by Mar and the others. “Oy, I know this face—where’s ya girlfriend?”

“Mmm, girlfriend?” Brumm inquired.

Mar looked Ghost up and down, though he looked pleased with what he saw. “Girlfriend? I wasn’t aware you two were best friends, Fleur.”

“Oh yeah, we go way back,” she said sarcastically. “Where’s ya girlfriend, Ghost? Don’t tell me you left her to dance with this oaf.”

“Who’s the girlfriend?” Pea and Sincere asked in unison, chuckling because they said it at the same time.

Everyone gushed over Ghost except the musician, who simply sat on the stool and played a silvery tune that he hummed to.

“I stole them—what a shame,” teased Grimm. 

Brumm’s tuneful playing oscillated a bit, though it resumed its rhythm soon after. While Grimm went on to explain the specifics of the so-called “dance,” Brumm fetched leaves to feed the Grimmsteeds; he felt the knight’s eyes on them a few times, but chose not to acknowledge their gazes. It appeared the musician had a lot on their mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monarch 👀 is a simp 👄 for Songstress Marissa( ◠‿◠ ).
> 
> —  
> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to point out that italic text in this story usually means one of two things:  
> 1) A flashback  
> 2) Hearing voices  
> But I think you guys can differentiate depending on the context! That’s all, happy reading 😊.

“Just who are ya, Ghost? Ya live around here?” asked Fleur. 

“Yeah, where do you live?” Pea posed. “You seem different from everyone else in this town, but what do I know?”

It wasn’t like Ghost could actually tell the Grimm Troupe who they were. Revelation of identity was forbidden, _especially_ to outsiders. The knight was sure they meant no harm, but they simply couldn’t. They didn’t respond to the members' queries. 

“Mmm, so you’re not going to tell us, after putting on such a grand performance and fighting Master?” Brumm remarked with dissatisfaction. “An odd sense of humor you have.”

Despite the general geniality of the troupe, there was an air of malaise that Ghost particularly felt whenever the musician spoke. They thought that the perceived animosity was all in their head, so they just ignored it.

Grimm kept a close eye on Ghost, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly whenever he caught sight of their nail. It was a fine tool—it clearly wasn’t any old sword for decoration or bragging rights. The nail’s wielder knew exactly how to use it, when to use it, and even when _not_ to use it. Ghost didn’t just use their nail, but they used interesting spells, too; it wasn’t everyday that ordinary bugs unleashed powerful magic in such a controlled manner. The way Ghost maintained their calm and collected bearing, even towards a foe who potentially put their life in danger—not only did it speak volumes about their lifestyle, but their very character. 

Grimm was intrigued; the silence of his newfound acquaintance gave the Troupe Master a tantalizing glimpse of them, but it also shut the doors to their identity with a lock and key.

_Silent, strong, capable,_ yet expressive in their own right.

If they joined the troupe, Grimm felt like they wouldn’t be a stranger to their goals and attitudes—in fact, he thought they’d understand them.

“Oh, they’re leaving…” Divine murmured before giggling.

“I was hoping to fight them,” said Sincere.

“You and Master are exactly the same,” Pea said flatly.

“Not everyone can be a fighter type—like you, you’d just get squished,” Mar laughed. “I mean, the gods really had it out for you when they made—” 

The butterfly didn’t get to finish his sentence; the little termite jumped up and delivered a boot to them right in the face. Mar saw stars and nearly lost his footing, had Fleur not held them steady.   
—————  
Nights in Dirtmouth were surprisingly more lively than afternoons or mornings. When Ghost stepped outside, some children almost bumped into them while running, though they didn’t bother apologizing. On the side of the road, there was a drawing with red chalk—it looked like someone had tried to draw the Troupe Master. 

The skies were clear, and smoke came from the chimneys of a few houses. A pitch black bug with lots of body jewelry was reciting the story of the legendary Radiance, and many bugs had gathered around to listen to her; she held a miniature book that was also garnished with lots of chains and jewelry. Like any preacher, she bombarded the crowd with weighty questions about their morality and life choices.

Once Ghost left the Grimm Troupe’s tent, they didn’t look back to see if anyone was watching or following them.

A hand on their shoulder stopped them though. 

“I invite you to come back here soon, Ghost,” said Grimm. “Our dance was simply amazing, don’t you think?” 

They didn’t say anything.

“Didn’t you have a lot of fun?” he said charmingly. “But if you don’t come back, then that’s fine—fate will carry on as it must.” 

_“...A_ — _rsed f_ — _…”_

Ghost spun their head around, searching for the source of the barely decipherable hushed tones. Everyone was shouting—no one was in close enough proximity to whisper to them in such a manner. 

Up until that point, everything was normal—the knight didn’t feel any different from how they usually did. That was quick to change though, when Grimm reached over to caress their face. When they looked at the Troupe Master, he blinked and grinned, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. His face was unobjectionable free from pretense—he only looked happy to see Ghost.

All at once, Ghost felt their vital force slip, and then come back to them in an indescribable rush. As soon as they felt the warmth of Grimm’s proximity, their face began to throb disturbingly—and then it stopped. They felt devoid of any sensations, be it happiness, sadness, or excitement. The knight didn’t notice the tiny crack that had formed along the side of their mask whilst the event came to pass.

“Goodnight, Ghost.”

With a lightning twirl of his body, Grimm’s body contracted and he dropped out of sight.

“O-oh, wasn’t that the leader of the circus?”

It was Myla, who held a burlap sack full of goods—she had just come back from shopping, and decided to take a brisk walk around town. She didn’t mean to be nosy, but she couldn’t help but notice the seemingly meaningful exchange.

“You know them? Aren’t they so cool? I mean, I’d ask for an autograph from one of them, but I just can’t choose!”

The bug shuffled uncomfortably in place, shifting the sack between both of her hands before placing it down on the ground—it looked heavy.

Ghost’s eyes ranged over the bag and Myla—she had an innocent look on her face. She was mystified by Grimm’s appearance, and also wondered about Ghost, because Myla didn’t think she had seen them around Dirtmouth before.

The knight looked at the tattered burlap sack again.

_“Oh, your Highness please stay back, I can carry this, it’s my job,” a palace servant implored._

_Could she really carry it though? Little Ghost saw her enervated face—they didn’t think she could._

_When the female beetle heaved the large statue again, she shuffled forward slowly, but steadily._

_Ghost attempted to help her again, but she again asked them to stay put, this time more firmly._

_“Ghost?” called the Pale King. “Go back to your quarters and leave that attendant be.”_

When Ghost picked up Myla’s sack, they felt another throb from within.

“You don’ha—ah, tongue twisted. You don’t have to, I do this all the time,” Myla protested. “Hey! Do you even know where I live?”

Ghost didn’t. They waited for Myla to catch up and lead them in the right direction.

“You’re awfully nice to a stranger—what’s the deal?”

The knight tilted their head and shrugged, and Myla pursed her lips. _“What an oddball.”_

When the duo reached the front of Myla’s home, Ghost placed the sack down and turned to leave, not bothering to say any sort of goodbye.

“Hey! What’s your name? I mean, no bye?”

Myla took off her miner’s cap and ruffled her antennas. She was confused, but couldn’t say she was ungrateful. Her mouth curled up into a smile when she looked at the beat-up sack—she bought high-grade sweets today and she was going to enjoy them.

“Tuk! Open this door, I’m home!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grimm out here caressing creature’s faces like they ain’t just meet that very same night.


	9. Chapter 9

“Why were you so rude, Brummie?” Divine whispered. “If not rude, then cold—”

“Mmm I don’t know what you’re talking about, nor do I really care to know what you’re talking about,” he interrupted. “If you’re talking about Ghost, then I act like that around everyone and anyone, they’re not an exception.”

She whirred thoughtfully. “I thought you didn’t care to know what I was talking about—”

“I don’t, I just said it myself so you wouldn’t continue bothering me.”

Divine sucked her teeth, “Stop interrupting me.”

“Alright, sorry,” he said with remorse. “Listen, it's nothing to do with you—”

She gave the musician a pensive look. “You lie. Anyone and everyone? Please.”

“Stop being vague,” Brumm said boredly. “I’m going to sleep, goodnight Divine.”

“You don’t act like that around everyone, not around Master!” she sallied while sniggering. “And goodnight—sweet dreams!”

Brumm had no comeback for Divine’s first statement. “Thanks...you too.”

As he trudged to the back of the troupe’s tent, the musician was blocked by two energetic and lively bugs.

“What, YOU’RE going to sleep too?” Pea quibbled. “Can you believe this guy?” 

Fleur waved her off. “Awe, the boy is tired! Let em’ sleep, we can all have fun tomorrow. Pea wanted to go into town, but it’s getting late anyway—maybe we should sleep too.”

“Hmph! Not me,” said the termite. “If you grandmas want to sleep, be my guest, I’m going to town.” 

Mar’s buoyant voice came from the back of the tent, “Should I wake up Sincere to accompany you?! You might be mistaken for a lost child and robbed or something—no one will mess with you with Sincere around!”

“I’ll kick them like I kicked you!”

“Worst case scenario is that Pea gets absolutely squished!” Mar retorted, causing everyone to laugh.

“Ya’ll be nice now,” Fleur interjected. “Girlie can take care of herself—and I’m going with her anyway—Divine! Do ya wanna join us?”

Brumm went around the duo and continued walking towards the back, opening a tent flap; after setting his accordion down on his favorite stool, he plonked himself into a thick pile of leaves and closed his eyes. He ruminated on the day’s show, and the troupe, then Grimm, and finally, Ghost.

He didn’t stop thinking about the knight until he fell into a deep sleep, and even then, he dreamt about them unexpectedly. It wasn’t at all pleasant—Brumm dreamt that the Grimm Troupe’s tents burned and burned. Brumm was stuck with no way out, but he didn’t try to escape either—he just sat and played his instrument mindlessly. The moment he stopped playing, the flames crept up on him; suddenly, Brumm was alone in an empty, black space, with Ghost standing right in front of them. The knight withdrew their nail, and it looked like they were going to slash Brumm, but they didn’t. Instead, they pierced their mask, and a number of voices came spilling out in torrents. When the musician awoke, the tent was dim, its only source of light being a few torches. He figured it was the middle of the night, and went back to sleep.

In the very same room, Grimm’s glowing scarlet eyes peered out at the musician, but they fluttered closed soon after.

\----------

“Departing towards the Ancient Basin in five minutes—”

“If you’re brave enough to board, the Distant Village is this way! All aboard!”

Once Ghost hopped up on a stag, they were tempted to doze off. They realized that they had to be extremely careful when coming back home. As long as Ghost could sneak in through the same window they used earlier, then they should be fine. The knight reaffirmed themselves that everything was going to be okay—but they felt quite sleepy.

Ghost only closed their eyes for a few minutes, but that was enough time to miss the few heavily cloaked passengers who also boarded the stag. As with the last ride, everybody minded their own business.

This stag was more talkative than the other one, and she sang to herself occasionally. In spite of that, none of the passengers seemed remotely annoyed, though it was hard to tell under their thick, black veils.

“Sons of Hallownest

Do you see? The great Pale King’s crest!

He’s radiant like the sun...”

One creature snorted and snickered upon hearing the stag’s song, giving Ghost the evil eye when they glanced at them. Ghost averted their gaze—they couldn’t wait to be home.

At last, the stag arrived at their destination, and everyone left hurriedly. As soon as the last creature stepped off, the beetle galloped back into the stagways without delay.

It was extremely dark, and an air of foreboding struck the knight immediately; when Ghost advanced further into the station, there was an untraceable sound of scuttling that ran through the area. The knight trampled something thin and very sticky, and they struggled for a bit before finally untangling themselves. They _most_ definitely weren’t back home.

_“If you’re brave enough to board, the Distant Village is this way! All aboard!”_

When the realization hit the knight, they could only mentally curse themselves. Where in Radiance’s name was the Distant Village located? How far was it from the Ancient Basin?

And _was_ it safe?

But the knight thought about it again; they were still in the stag station—if they could just ring the bell—

"Who encroaches into Deepnest so heedlessly?!” hissed a guttural voice. “State your business! Or be gone!”

Unluckily for Ghost, they were unable to speak, and could therefore _not_ state their business. The knight didn’t feel particularly phased when the mysterious voice told them they were in Deepnest—all they knew was that the tribe of Deepnest was their enemy. The enemy made no moves to attack though, and Ghost was sure that they didn’t know who they were, either. The knight knew it was severely unwise to engage in combat, so they simply held their hands up to indicate their lack of hostility.

“State your business—are you an acolyte to the king of Hallownest, or an outsider?” said the voice furiously.

Ghost did nothing, and continued to maintain their posture; the circumstances surrounding the situation grew more taxing, and the knight suddenly felt like hundreds of eyes were on them, even if they couldn’t see them.

“They do not speak, nor attack—”

“THEY BEAR THE SYMBOL OF THE KING! THEIR NAIL!”

“IT’S A CHILD OF THE KING! KILL THEM!”

Ghost braced themselves, though they intended not to cause any casualties, for fear it would incite something ruinous. The sound of scuttling grew jarringly frantic, and Ghost’s first instinct was to make a break for it; they rang the bell of the stag station and dashed towards the stagways. Before they could even make it inside, a thick and sticky silk thread wrapped around their leg and tripped them; with another dash, Ghost was able to break free, but four more threads wrapped around their legs and arms. A burst of the knight’s vengeful spirit burned the webs away, and they ran into the caverns. Suddenly, three or more creatures dropped down from the darkness with a crash, and surrounded Ghost on all sides. The knight saw an opportunity to escape between two of the larger creatures, but they were again captured by silk threads, which were even stickier and stronger than before. Ghost cut through one with their nail, but before they could slash the others, a swift and violent hack hammered them and sent them crashing into the cavern’s rocky surface; the force was so great that their shell cracked loudly. The foes did not relent after that, and Ghost was again attacked. Following this, one of the creatures grabbed Ghost by the horns and slammed them on the ground.

_“Get up, Ghost!”_

The knight stood up, just like the Pale King’s voice commanded them too.

_“You are this kingdom’s future.”_

Ghost shot their vengeful spirit and landed a hit on one of Deepnest’s creatures—they shrieked loudly and painfully.

_“Ghost—think twice before—”_

The creatures of Deepnest continued to show the knight no mercy; they thrashed them until they panted heavily, and clutched their nail weakly. Each breath Ghost took was a fighting one.

The inclination to heed their father’s words was intense, almost _overpowering_ , but the knight found little ways, _subconscious_ ways, to defy the King. So when Ghost was struck again, they refused to stand up and fight. The push and pull in their being was suffocating; they were called to listen, to obey mindlessly, and yet, they found that they did not care. Not about the Pale King, the kingdom, or anything else that accompanied that. Ultimately, Ghost felt comfortable in letting the darkness envelop them. That darkness, whatever it was, felt volatile and somehow devoid of sentience, but could those two qualities even coexist?

Ghost shut their eyes; slowly but surely, they were falling victim to their wounds, but like before, they found that they did not care. Perhaps that was a bit of an oversimplification though—because Ghost quite _literally_ felt nothing, in every sense of the word.

The knight wasn’t looking when a member of the Spider tribe was about to deliver the finishing blow, and they also didn’t hear it when a voice told them to stop what they were about to do. Everyone backed away from the battered creature, and Ghost was carefully enveloped in a soft and warm cocoon; they saw nothing, only the fine, shiny white threads that crossed over one another intricately to form the silky case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope my readers are doing okay, and if you’re not okay, that’s alright too ♡. Ily all!! Okay let’s read :).

“Da-da-da-Deepnest! Not at all a good place to rest—”

Hollow’s eye twitched. As much as he appreciated Ogrim’s company, would it kill him to be a little more quiet? He had far too much enthusiasm for the prince.

While the trip to Deepnest was relatively fast and easy, the most difficult thing for Hollow was dealing with Ogrim, who liked to chit chat and sing to himself.

 _“What I’d do for some hearty green chips right now,”_ Hollow thought dully.

“Isn’t this place kind of scary, Prince Hollow?”

“Eh, not really,” said Hollow. “It could be worse—it’s just dark.”

Ogrim picked up a rock from the ground and tossed it to the prince, who caught it swiftly. “These Spiders could really use some of our architecture—just look at this place!”

“...Agreed.”

Hollow picked up another stone from the ground and threw it at the Great Knight, and the two played catch until they reached the tramway that was in construction.

It was a leisurely, but efficient operation; about ten bugs were set up in different parts of the cavern to work on various facets of the tram. While some were making its body, others were creating the backbone of the actual system which the tram would operate on. Hollow didn’t announce his arrival, but he didn’t have to—Ogrim did that for him. 

“Everyone—stop what you’re doing—his Highness has arrived...and so have I!”

The bugs (who happened to be common ones), were extremely shocked to have laid eyes on one of the princes of Hallownest. It was probably the closest they’d ever get to royalty, and to the King. Immediately, they scrambled and bowed; a few genuflected, and others completely dropped to their hands and knees. Hollow was slightly taken aback by their veneration, but Ogrim looked like he was basking in it. 

“Who’s that other creature next to the Prince?” whispered a worker. 

“I don’t know—”

“You oafs, that’s one of the Great Knights!” another murmured in astonishment. “They protect us! That one’s name is Ogrim.”

“I heard my name!” Ogrim announced. “Yes, it is I! Here to protect you all and serve our King.”

Hollow hated to admit it, but the Great Knight’s ardor was infectious.

“I come here by order of the Pale King,” said the Prince. “Continue construction of the tram, we will see to your safety.”

 _“He’s kind of handsome!”_ whispered a voice, but Hollow heard it, and he blushed.

“Enough dillydallying, see to your duties,” the Prince asserted. At the drop of a hat, everyone did just that. Nobody spoke to each other and if they did, they made sure things were getting done.

“Nicely done, your Highness,” said Ogrim, nodding with satisfaction.

“Huh?”

“Oh—forgive my comments—”

“I do,” said Hollow. “What do you mean by that?”

Both Ogrim and the Prince heard the ominous scampering that echoed through Deepnest, but they chose to ignore it. Even if they didn’t verbalize their suspicions, they were visible through their stiffness.

“The way these bugs followed you so willingly, and so confidently—it speaks volumes about who you are, Prince Hollow.”

“Well let me tell you then,” Hollow began, “I want to be Ghost’s advisor in the future, when they sit on the throne and carry out decisions. I’d like to be there for counsel—actually, it’s been on my mind ever since they were born. If I’m confident and commanding like you say, then that’s good.”

Ogrim laughed, “It’s a little funny, actually.”

“What is?”

“Forgive me your Highness, but I won’t say it, I don’t know if it’s totally appropriate.”

“Agh,” Hollow huffed. “So why bring it up?”

There was another sound, but this one was a clear indication that something, or _someone,_ was nearby. A pebble fell from above, and everything went deathly quiet. Once Hollow and Ogrim stopped talking, the workers also stopped what they were doing and looked over to them. Ogrim cleared his throat and darted his eyes around, trying to make out anything unusual. Hollow recalled the looming feeling from earlier.

\-----

_“They’ve caught wind of us.”_

_“Just wait a moment—the tall one looks like he wants to act.”_

\----

“Your Highness!” Ogrim yelled in surprise. Before a sharp and deadly needle could lacerate the Prince, Ogrim took a chunk of dirt and rolled it into a ball rapidly, using it to deflect the attack. All the workers were stunned and paralyzed with fear at the sudden onslaught, and they hunched over.

“You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

Hornet leapt down from the shadows, as did Spiders and Weavers; they were armed with sharp objects, as well as their own lethal claws. They blended in well with the darkness, but Hornet’s pink cloak stuck out like a sore thumb among them. She was shorter and smaller than her companions, but it was obvious who held the authority.

“Cursed Spiders,” Ogrim said under his breath.

Hornet approached Hollow fearlessly, and he withdrew his lengthy nail. 

“Is this an attack?”

“This is exactly what it looks like,” Hornet declared. “This is Deepnest—the territory—”

“Of a queen who is most unrecognized,” Ogrim derided. “When the Pale King ventures forward and seizes it, it’ll be under our dominion.”

The creatures of Deepnest shot daggers at him, and Hornet scoffed. “You think your king so fair and radiant, don’t you? It’s pitiful—disperse!” 

In the blink of an eye, the Spiders surrounded the poor workers and trapped them in webs. Hornet and the Weavers set their sights on Ogrim and Hollow; with unintelligible hissing sounds, the princess communicated something to her comrades.

Hornet was the first to strike, and she jumped up and dove straight towards Hollow. She was fast, almost _too_ fast, and Hollow barely evaded the hit. She slid across the ground and aimed at the prince again, but he blocked Hornet’s attack and slashed her vertically. This time, it was the princess who blocked; she safeguarded herself with her robust needle, and when Hollow made no moves to back away, she crouched and slashed at the prince with a wide-ranging and sweeping motion.

“If you cared about these simple bugs, you’d leave this tramway as it is—forever,” Hornet growled.

Hornet made a gash in Hollow’s arms, and a white fluid—a dewy, blood-like substance—oozed out; Hollow was phased, but only momentarily. He backed up, and when Hornet charged at him again, he kicked rocks in her face. Hornet shut her eyes abruptly, and Hollow locked on to her and unleashed a vigorous slash that sent the princess recoiling backwards. By some miracle, Hornet wasn’t cut, but she was certainly injured.

The Weavers came tactically at Ogrim, surrounding him on all sides and attempting to leave no blindspot untouched. Ogrim dodged and blocked their slashes with his hard shell, throwing strong mounds of dirt at his foes; he rolled them up in a flash, and they ricocheted around the room destructively. When Spiders attempted to bind Ogrim with threads, he broke through them without much effort. The moment the Great Knight was cornered, he dove underground unexpectedly and rose back up, taking a few creatures with him. Two of them fainted, and a third was incapacitated because Ogrim had broken some of their legs.

“You know,” Hornet said with mock worry, “I wouldn’t linger here too long—it’s getting increasingly harder for those simple bugs to breathe under the tightness of our webs.”

Hollow’s heart dropped. “You're bluffing!”

But it was no bluff, Hollow simply couldn’t hear the workers’ ragged breathing and gasping for air; they cried out for their Prince or Ogrim to save them, but he couldn’t hear that either.

“If you don’t get out of here, maybe you’ll end up the same way!” Hornet said harshly. The princess used thread to propel her needle forward, and Hollow jumped back and slashed at her. A ray of light came from his nail, and Hornet’s eyes widened in surprise; it cut through her cloak and tore through flesh as well. The prince paid no attention to the white fluid that leaked out of Hornet’s wound, and he continued to shower her with rays of light.

Hollow rushed Hornet, and had his nail pointed towards her; when she braced herself to dodge, he swung around, pivoting on his leg. Hollow had faked the princess out, and he sprinted towards the captive bugs enveloped in silk.

Ogrim had dealt with the majority of his foes, save for a few large ones who refused to back down. One of them slashed his face and made him bleed profusely, but he countered by throwing an enormous mound of rocks at them, crushing part of their thorax.

Hollow managed to save some of the workers by cutting through the threads, but Hornet was on him yet again. She jumped up and spun her thread, wheeling and gyrating it through the air. The sharp edges of the thread caused multiple nicks on Hollow’s skin that stung acutely, and he hissed in pain. In a fit of rage, the Prince stormed towards Hornet and slashed at her with heavy and forceful blows. When Hornet’s back hit the wall, she attempted to leap up and dodge, but Hollow grabbed her cloak; Hornet sharply drew in her breath, and her head hit the wall.

The Prince was upon her, but was still trying to decide what to do. He _had_ to save his citizens, no matter what—if it came down to choosing between them and Hornet, the answer was obvious.

“You’d kill your sister?” she drawled acidly. 

Hollow said nothing, but he forgot how to breathe the moment he heard Hornet’s question. When the grip on his nail weakened, Hornet flung her needle upwards and stabbed his left eye.

The Prince screamed and covered his eye instinctively—he couldn’t see anything, and he reeled away from Hornet’s direction. She wasn’t finished yet, and took the opportunity to attack him again.

“Come on, come on, run!” shouted a worker

“But we can’t leave them!” another said with panic.

“I—we can’t break through those threads!”

“PRINCESS!” someone thundered; Hornet relented and looked around for the source of the voice. A Weaver came down and hissed at the princess, and she stared at them intently before hissing back to the others who were present. Though they were wounded, they heeded her call and moved away a safe distance from Ogrim and the others.

After a moment’s reflection, Hornet spoke directly to Hollow. 

“Alone, we can’t prompt you to leave, but we’re not the only ones in Deepnest. Another child of the king has been captured—they’re critically injured. If you do not leave, we won’t hesitate to kill them. If you go, you can have them, but we will not see to their survival before you make a decision.”

Hollow was utterly alarmed by Hornet’s announcement.

_“Who...Ghost? Why?”_

The Prince sighed deeply and motioned for Ogrim to free the still captured workers. When he did, they gasped for air and scrambled behind him. As for Hollow, he felt all sorts of conflicted. 

“This isn’t the end,” he said bitterly, still covering his eye.

“You’d be wise to shut up about your intentions,” Hornet countered. “Wren! Get the child and throw them to these acolytes.”

“Right away, Princess.”

Ogrim looked at Hollow concerningly, but he did what had to be done. The question that swam through his mind was _why_ Ghost of all creatures was in Deepnest? He had to tell the King.

“Go to Deepnest’s entrance,” Hornet said. “When you’re there, you’ll get them. Make no moves until then though—and that’s not a threat—believe me, you don’t want to find out.”

The Spiders and Weavers waited until everyone was out of sight, and then they left. Hornet followed Hollow and the others for a good portion of the way back. When they were at the entrance of Deepnest, the Weaver named Wren did as she was told, but she didn’t throw Ghost. She inched closer to Hollow and set the knight’s cocoon down carefully; Wren receded from view as she walked back into the darkness.

Hollow looked at the cocoon blankly, but his mind and heart were racing. _What happened?_

The Prince walked towards the cocoon, and he carefully cut through the threads with his nail. There was no rush—Hollow did everything very gently—but he was dreading what he’d uncover.

Ogrim and the others could only watch in silence.

After severing the last of the threads, Hollow’s breath got caught in his throat for the hundredth time that day. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Ghost was still breathing, but only just. Their mask was cracked in several places, but most notably on the side; the knight’s shell and cloak were noticeably scorched, and their nail was crudely enveloped in threads. Their body was cold, and Hollow could only thank the Radiance that their sibling survived whatever terrifying ordeal they went through.

“Ghost,” Hollow said weakly, “...what did they do to you?”

When Ghost reached up and pointed at Hollow’s damaged eye, the Prince cried and clutched their sibling tightly, as if they’d slip through their fingers at any moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baddie Hornet.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With everything that's been going on, I hope everyone is doing their best to be aware and safe.  
> Happy reading ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* .

_“Who are you?”_

_“G...a”_

_“I can’t hear you.”_

_“And who are you?”_

_“My name is Monarch.”_

_“Oh, I thought you were somebody else.”_

\----------

The situation was dire, but Hollow wasn’t sure of what to do; this was one of those things he’d never expect would happen. Hollow refused to believe that Ghost was potentially on the verge of death—they _couldn’t_ be. But he couldn’t panic, not just yet. He had to be sound, for Ghost.

_“Wait a minute!”_

“Ghost,” he said while propping them up tenderly. “What did Father teach you about soul? Do you know how to channel your soul and heal?”

Ghost said nothing—they felt like a let down. The Pale King _did_ teach them how to heal with soul, but Ghost just couldn’t do it.

“P-Prince Hollow,” said Ogrim, “we must tell his Majesty—”

“NO!” Hollow blurted out. He turned to look at Ogrim with a mix of desperation and anger that he would even dare suggest such a thing; the workers hid behind Ogrim, afraid that they’d unleash the Prince’s fury. “You won’t tell him anything—do I make myself clear?”

Ogrim swallowed nervously; he respected Hollow, he really did, but he was ultimately more afraid of disappointing, and _lying_ , to the Pale King. Such an act would be seen as treasonous, and he didn’t want to know what that entailed—not one bit. He mustered up some courage before speaking.

“Your Highness, I cannot follow through with that.”

“And why can’t you?!”

“I’m—I’m sorry, Prince Hollow,” said Ogrim timidly, “but his Majesty’s authority overrules your wishes.”

“Damn it, why won’t you just listen to me?!” Hollow seethed. He stroked his sibling’s face in an attempt to calm himself, but the flurry of panic was gnawing at the fibers of his being. 

“Please, your Highness, stop b-being selfish!” 

Now Ogrim was upset, and he didn’t attempt to hide it. 

“Selfish?!” Hollow shouted incredulously. “I’m—”

“No no, please let me finish speaking! Are you afraid of what the King might do to them, Prince Hollow?! I can assure you, he won’t be killing them! Whatever it is, it won’t be worse than what the King might do to YOU if you bring back a dead heir! Please, Prince Hollow, we must get Ghost to safety.”

Short-tempered Hollow was too fed up to want to comprehend the cogency of Ogrim’s words. “Shut up! You don’t understand—”

“No, I think I understand perfectly, Prince Hollow! A-are you trying to shield them away from their destiny? Is that it?” he quavered.

The Prince stood up and looked at Ogrim eyeball to eyeball; he clenched his fist, and had to resist the urge to shake out of frustration. 

“Ogrim, be quiet.”

“I won’t be quiet, Prince Hollow, because that notion is absurd!”

Hollow grew more tense. “Ogrim—”

“Young Ghost didn’t play by the rules, and now they’re going to face the consequences—it is to be expected.”

The workers stood by idly, but they knew none of them could do anything to diffuse the situation; they just wanted to go home.

“So,” Hollow said while trying to keep a level tone, “you’re saying they deserved all of this? For your sake, I hope the answer is no.”

“No your Highness, please don’t misunderstand my words—I want the best for Ghost, just as any other bug does. The Pale King set forth a path for them to follow, not because he’s an evil, vile creature—but because this was Ghost’s destiny, from the moment they were even conceived! Everything the King does, it is so Ghost can be the ideal ruler. One mistake is all it takes for your kingdom to come crumbling down in ruins!”

The Prince considered Ogrim’s statement, but right now, he wasn’t too keen on thinking about it.

“Well...have you ever stopped to consider that that’s a burden they didn’t want to bear?”

Ogrim sighed heavily, “Now is not the time for philosophy, your Highness—it is what it is, and you know that, very well. It’s been like this for ages. If you don’t like the way things are, you can wait until the near future and aid Ghost in changing things, but that...that’s not your place right now.”

Defeated, Hollow took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He crouched down and picked up his sibling.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting—you’ll be fine, alright? I’ll...I’ll protect you.”

They nodded.

“Ogrim...you, you don’t have to say anything—I’ll tell the King everything,” he stated. “Please, just go and lead these workers the rest of the way.”

“...Okay, your Highness, I trust that you will.”

“You have my word.”

One of the workers shyly approached Hollow and bowed.

“Y-your Highness?”

“Yes?” he said warmly; the worker felt their heart skip a beat at the Prince’s affability.

“I-I hope they feel better,” they said before scurrying back to Ogrim.

Hollow couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.”

Shortly after this, everyone parted ways. Hollow did his best to make sure Ghost was comfortable while they headed to the Ancient Basin. 

_“They...are training with Isma and Dryya.”_

Hollow laughed quietly, “Training with Isma and Dryya, huh? I wish.”

Once they arrived at the Ancient Basin, Hollow gave the White Palace a long look before turning away from it and walking in the other direction.

_“I’m sorry, Ogrim.”_

The Prince rang the bell of the stag station; he climbed aboard the beetle and made his way towards the Crossroads. _“Stay with me, Ghost...you have to.”_

“Are you comfortable?” Hollow asked his sibling, and they nodded. “What about warm?”

Ghost nodded again, and they pointed at the Prince’s mangled eye. “Don’t worry about that, I’ll be fine—I can still see from the other one.”

\----------

“Would Ghost not make for a suitable instrument?” Pea queried. 

“They would—that’s why Master likes them so much,” said Divine. She pointed at one of the shops in Dirtmouth and gestured for Fleur and Pea to go inside. “Who better to collect the flames of a soon to be dead kingdom, than one of its own creatures? Master says he feels like Ghost has a strong connection to this kingdom’s heart—I wonder what that’s all about?”

Fleur shrugged, “Master says a lot of things.”

“How would he know that—oh, look at those cute little pastries!” said Pea. 

The dessert she was talking about was a stack of mini pancakes—they were drizzled with caramel, and had one blueberry smack on top; it was held together by a stick.

“Do ya want it?” said Fleur, “I’ll buy it for ya.”

“Um, and are you going to buy ME something?” said Divine. “I warn you, I don’t buy cheap!”

“Ugh, fine, whaddya’ want?”

“THAT!” Divine requested. “Mmm, it smells so divine—no pun intended.”

Divine pointed to a _very_ elaborate cake—ridiculously elaborate in fact, for how small it was. It had three layers, was dusted with golden, edible glitter, and had two designs—butterflies, and white flowers. The pastry looked like a miniature wedding cake; it was 1000 geo.

“Oh...ya want THAT!” Fleur said nervously. “Sure...”

Divine embraced Fleur in a back-breaking hug, “YOU ARE...the best! Come on Pea, let’s go check out the other shops around here!”

Divine grabbed the termite by the hand and dragged her outside. “Hey, wait a moment—”

Fleur turned to the shopkeeper, who was an elderly bug. “So, did ya get all that?”

They chuckled breathily, “I did, I’ll get it right now.”

While the elder was attending to Fleur, the ladybug scanned the pastry shop. It wasn’t anything grand—the walls were a smoky, light blue color, and there was a doodle of a slice of cake and a teacup behind the counter where all the pastries were. There was also a frame with a poem that spoke about the Pale King, and another that said “Bless our youngest.” All in all, it was a very dainty store; Fleur decided she liked it.

“I like this place,” said the ladybug. “How...is it like doing service here?”

“Oh, it’s really quite nice,” said the bug. “Making these pastries is time-consuming, but I enjoy every minute of it. Seeing smiling faces is all I need to get through the day.

_Smiling faces?_

“What an odd goal,” the ladybug remarked.

“Haha, maybe.” 

He handed Fleur the pastries and thanked her. “What’s your name? You’re very pleasant.”

“I’m Fleur,” she said while taking the food and giving them geo. “I think I’ll come back here—you’re not so bad yourself.”

“Oh that’d be nice, maybe I can show you the ropes and you can work with me—haha! I’m only joking!”

Fleur didn’t laugh, but she was completely puzzled by his abrupt suggestion. “Work with ya?”

“Well sure—it’d be nice to have assistance around here, I’m getting old.”

The ladybug opened her mouth to speak, but her vision suddenly went foggy, and she found herself in an unfamiliar place. She was behind a counter, selling flowers to random bugs. It was only for a split second, because after that, everything went up in flames. When she blinked again, scarlet eyes were staring back at her. Fleur's blood ran cold, and she blinked again—she was back at the shop. 

“Are you okay, young lady?”

“I’m fine,” she said plainly, “I’ll, I’ll see ya around okay?”

“Goodnight!” the bug chirped.

“Goodnight.”

When Fleur walked outside of the shop, Pea and Divine were waiting for her; Divine snatched the bag away hungrily.

“I can’t wait to eat this!”

“Give me my pancakes!” said Pea.

“Actually, I think I’ll eat those too!” she taunted.

“Oh no, you won’t—”

Fleur tuned out of Divine and Pea’s bickering; the air howled quietly, and her antennas waved in the wind. She looked up towards the horizon, and a blue comet sailed through Dirtmouth’s sky; she followed its trajectory, and eventually her eyes landed on the Grimm Troupe’s lurid tents. Fleur didn’t notice Pea and Divine walking back to them, but she awoke from her daze when Pea yelled her name; with reluctance, Fleur followed them, but she tried to keep a distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies,  
> my mental health (in addition to my first case of writer's block) has been affecting the quality of my writing lately, so I probably won't be as active as I usually am/would like to be. I managed to get this guy out, and i'm quite happy with how it turned out. As always, thank you for reading ♥.

“We’ve arrived at the Crossroads!” announced a stag.

Given the fact that it was nighttime, there weren’t many creatures ambling around. The few bugs who did looked at Hollow and Ghost curiously, but the Prince didn’t care. 

He wasn’t there for the village—he was there to visit the local Snail Shaman. The Shaman didn’t personally know the Pale King, but he was good acquaintances with Prince Hollow, who met him when he was still very small. On instruction from the Pale King, Hollow once went to the Snail Shaman to retrieve an ancient spell. The Snail was very friendly, and invited Hollow to eat hearty green chips with him—that’s where the Prince’s addiction started. Ever since then, Hollow would sneak out regularly to try and get more chips from the Shaman, though he didn’t always have them on hand. 

One day, the Shaman told Hollow he’d “teach them something nice.” That fateful day was when Hollow learned how to channel soul into his nail and unleash sword beams. Hollow hadn’t been to visit the Snail Shaman in a very long time—he hoped he was still around. But Hollow was sure that he was, because the Shaman said that he’d “always be here”; he was relieved to see their ancestral burial ground was still intact.

“You’re going to be okay,” he told Ghost, “I’ll make sure of it. There’s a friend here who’s going to help us.”

By accident, he bumped into one of the bony scarecrows, and it rattled loudly; he jumped and laughed at himself, _ “Oh, it’s just one of those things.” _

Upon entering the Shaman’s home, they appeared to be sleeping soundly, and they stirred before rolling onto their stomach.

“Is that you, Hollow?” the Shaman mumbled sleepily. “You can’t hide from me—I’d recognize your footsteps from a mile away. I don’t have chips today.”

“It is me—long time no see. I hope you’ve been well, and I don’t want chips, I need—”

Almost as if he wasn’t sleeping a few seconds ago, the Shaman sprung to his feet. “My help? With the creature in your hands? Well let’s take a look.”

Hollow kissed Ghost’s forehead and placed them down on the ground; the Shaman grimaced jokingly, and approached them. He gently prodded Ghost with his staff.   
“Mmm, very interesting indeed. There’s something preventing this creature from channeling their soul to heal, though I myself cannot tell you what that is. Think of it like a dam blocking water from escaping—I shall try and open up the paths through which the soul travels.”

Placing the end of his wooden staff on Ghost, the Shaman rolled the stick between his hands; soul traveled from him to Ghost in wave-like motions. The knight rose from their place on the ground, and immediately, they tried healing—it worked. Magically, the cracks on their mask mended, and soon enough, it was like nothing ever happened; the burns they also had disappeared, and their mask was as bright and pale as ever. Ghost turned to the Snail Shaman and bowed.

“Oh ho ho! You have manners—unlike Hollow over there.”

Immediately, the Prince rushed over to Ghost and took hold of them, nuzzling them. The Shaman grimaced again, “Very nasty! My ancestors don’t appreciate this intimacy.”

Hollow dusted Ghost off and blinked away some tears.

“You’re, you’re okay. I was scared that I was going to lose you...but I didn’t want to tell Father—I’ve gone against his wishes, but I don’t care. I don’t think you have any idea how happy,  _ how  _ relieved I am right now. We’re going to get you home, without the King knowing—I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but we are...do you believe me?”

Ghost said nothing in response, but Hollow knew they understood.

“Hm, your ancestors don’t appreciate my intimacy?” Hollow mumbled mischievously. “That’s too bad…”

He began creeping towards the Shaman, and they backed away slowly. “Oy! Wait a moment now, they really don’t—”

In one fell swoop, the Prince scooped him up in a hug, and the snail squirmed in his arms.

“Thank you so much,” Hollow beamed, “thank you for everything.”

“P-put me down,” he croaked. “This kind of hurts!”

“Sorry!”

Rather than voice their secret content at being hugged, the Shaman jabbed Hollow with his staff, and he yelped in pain. “What was that for?!”

“Your eye, what are you going to do about that? I take it you can’t use your soul to heal like your sibling over there?”

A shamefaced Hollow averted his gaze away from his nosy friend, “I can’t, and neither can my brother—but Ghost knows how to do it all!”

Sighing, the shaman went over to the wooden chest that was in his lodging, and opened it up; he pulled out bandages and gestured for Hollow to come over to them. “Unfortunately, I don’t possess the power to heal like some shamans do, but even if I did, I think your vision is gone for good in that eye. You’d have a healed eye, but you still wouldn’t be able to see—the least I can do is cover you up.

“I see,” said Hollow, though he didn’t seem at all disappointed; it likely wasn’t much of a hindrance to them.

Wrapping the bandages and making sure they were comfortably, and securely in place took some time, but Hollow let the Shaman do as he saw fit, though it didn’t stop him from wriggling around nervously. 

“Stop fidgeting you whippersnapper—and how did this even happen? Did you poke yourself in the eye with your nail?”

The memory of the fight at Deepnest, and the Princess stabbing Hollow in the eye came to mind.

“I was fighting with the Princess of Deepnest—when I had her cornered, she...said something that shocked me, and caught me off guard. Then she flung her needle at me and, yeah.”

At last, the Shaman finished bandaging Hollow up, and he rested his hands on his hips, looking to be extremely triumphant with his work.

“Caught you off guard? That’s not very knight-like of you—what could she possibly have said?”

“...She said she was my sister.”

Ghost looked at the Shaman, who looked at Hollow, who then glanced at his younger sibling. It was a curious moment, where no one quite knew what to say, even the wise Shaman. 

“Your...sister? But how? That would mean, well, you know.”

“I don’t know,” said Hollow. “Maybe she was just trying to fake me out—and it worked, but I feel like this isn’t the first time I’ve seen her...that’s what’s troubling me.”

“If what she said is true, then I highly doubt that she was born of the Pale King and the White Lady—what an interesting situation, though I cannot tell you if it wise to inquire of it with your parents. How very dramatic.”

“Ghost?” Hollow asked, “what do you think about this situation?”

Ghost said nothing, for they did not think anything of Hornet potentially being their sister. They hadn’t ever laid eyes on her, and they never once had a meaningful exchange. If Ghost was to inherit the duty of overseeing Deepnest in the future, then so be it. Aside from that, Deepnest held no further meaning for them, other than being the place where they had almost died; but Ghost held no resentment for the creatures who had tried to kill them. 

Perhaps Hollow was searching for a second opinion to match his own—or even challenge it. If the Princess was just that, a princess, with no blood relation to them, then that would be one thing—but for her to be their sibling? That changed everything. Still though, Hollow found it peculiar that these doubtful sentiments arose even before he encountered her.

\----------

It was only around 9:30 pm, and usually around this time, the Pale King was writing his agenda, or discussing important matters with his most loyal subjects—but this time, he wasn’t.

The problem started shortly before dinnertime, when the King’s head began to hurt. He brushed it off as stress, being that Higher Beings rarely fall victim to ailments and sickness. Said headache went away for a bit, but then it came back with a vengeance; to top it all off, the King also acquired a bit of a serious cough.

Because of the fact that his body was different from others (it had self-restorative properties), he trusted that he would feel better by the morning, so the King thought it best to sleep as soon as possible.

When he crawled into bed, there was a gentle knock at his door—it was the White Lady and the pink beetle, Ani, the palace’s head servant; she placed a helping of tea on the King’s nightstand and excused herself before shutting the door behind them.

“What’s this?” said the King, “I do not remember asking for tea...or am I losing memory, too?”

The White Lady sat on the edge of his bed, “I asked Ani to bring it to you—your condition does not evade me...I suppose I’m a bit worried.”

“Don’t be, I’ll feel better in the morning, after I get some sleep. Hollow should be home soon, and I’ll discuss the operation and Deepnest tomorrow—I simply can’t be bothered right now though.”

A faint, yellow light from a lamp reflected off of the Queen’s blue eyes—she looked concerned.

“Drink your tea—I hear the commoners use this for healing.”

“Do I look like a commoner?” the King questioned dryly. “And I don’t need—”

Nothing, not even Death himself, could put the Pale King in his place like the dour and hard countenance of a Queen who felt her concern was being brushed off could. She grabbed his collar and gave the King a smile most wicked—his eyes arched in surprise.

“Drink.Your.Tea.”

“O-okay...unhand me.”

The Queen sat there with crossed arms until he (unhappily) sipped every last drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao the Pale King is actually just a stale cinnamon role.  
> \--  
> I was laughing earlier cause you know when Soul Master spazzes out, imagine that with reggaeton music in the background.


	13. Water's Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme:  
> “Asunaro” by Tsunenori, for Ceano, the oceanside town.

_ “Did you hear, Mar?” said Pea. _

_ “What happened?” _

_ “There’s...there’s a rival circus in town!” _

_ Mar’s face expressed some worry; he adjusted his well worn neckerchief and clasped his hands together. “You hear of rival circuses stealing the spotlight all the time—but it won’t happen to us! Seventeen Sorcerers is the best show to grace this world. When did they show up, anyway?” _

_ Pea sat down next to the butterfly. “See, that’s where it gets a bit strange.” _

_ “Do tell.” _

_ “It was almost like they showed up overnight—that’s what the other members say, anyhow. Spooky, huh?” _

_ Mar pulled a face, “I once read a story like that when I was a child—” _

_ Pea facepalmed. “Here we go again.” _

_ He tittered, “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, in the story, a singer was once outperformed by a mysterious bug who showed up overnight—they showed up at the witching hour—” _

_ Pea put her tiny hand up, “What’s the witching hour?” _

_ “The witching hour is a specific hour during the nighttime, when evil, supernatural entities appear and are at their most powerful. So what ends up happening is this bug, right, they lured the singer to them, and then—” _

_ The butterfly’s story was interrupted by the intrusion of one of the other circus members, “Uh, practice is canceled, cause everyone wants to go into town—are you two coming with?” _

_ They looked at each other and shrugged. “We’ll go.” _

_ \---------- _

_ The oceanside town of Ceano was a pretty one; every home had a tiny balcony, and pots of flowers were clearly the decor of choice for civilians—they were everywhere, and while there was some variety, it was mostly geranium. Narrow streets and cobblestone pavement were its staples; in addition to this, most homes were painted with primary and secondary colors. A fountain adorned the middle of the town square, though its placement and design were amusing, as it looked more like a fountain for someone’s front yard. There was a sign that clearly stated not to throw flower petals inside, but no one ever listened. _

_ Mar had grown up in Ceano, and Pea was raised in a hamlet nearby. When Seventeen Sorcerers had lost two of their members due to old age, the circus had put up flyers, saying that they were in search of new members to fill the vacant slots. The sprightly and flexible termite jumped at the first opportunity she got. Mar, on the other hand, had no such interest, saying that his talents were too fine for something as unrefined as a circus; he wanted to be an entertainer of great renown, one that performed for the silk-stocking, august crowds in an opulent playhouse—but those were just the fancies of a small town butterfly. Mar thought that was where success and happiness lay. _

_ Ceano was in the farthest corner of a large kingdom, it was but a speck on the map when compared to the magnitude of everything else—and Mar knew this. _

_ So he schemed, and he thought his scheme so devious and foolproof. The plan was to join this silly circus, and acquire a name for himself, one that would take the entire kingdom by storm. _

_ “Mar, you are so amazing!” _

_ “Oh Mar, please come give us one of your performances!” _

_ Yes, the butterfly heard it all, the cheering, the voices of admiration, perhaps even the recognition of the King and Queen of Altia. After that, he could go onto the next kingdom and seize their hearts, and the ones after that, until he wanted to move on no more. _

_ It was a beautiful and crisp evening when Mar visited the circus tents of Seventeen Sorcerers. The tents had cut outs where you could see the outside, and the butterfly gazed at the purple and orange sunset, with rays of light that protruded out like the feathery wings of an angel. The night was young, but Mar felt even younger—and when you’re young, the world seems endlessly filled with possibility. With such mild and pleasant weather, and a scenic view, Mar thought the odds were in his favor today, and they certainly were. _

_ Meeting the leaders of the circus was nothing like Mar expected though, and neither was performing for them. Where the butterfly expected scrutiny and relevant constructive criticism, he got a modest round of applause, and they asked him why he wanted to join. Mar told them exactly why, and they looked at each other, but the butterfly could not discern whether it was interest or amusement. Either way, they said that if he was truly serious, then they’d begin seeing his face around the tents. Mar thought everything was going according to plan, and then he had his first show with them, and some more after that one. _

_ Mar did make a name for himself, as did everyone else in the circus—individuality is what keeps a circus’ heart beating, after all. You do not show up to a circus to see the circus, you come to see the world’s tallest bug, or the beetle who can lift and throw a boulder, maybe you wanted to get the autograph of the charismatic leader with the funny face. Crowds clapped for Mar, but not because they thought him so dignified, and his talents so extraordinary. They saw what they wanted to see, and it was enjoyable, too.  _

_ Whatever affluence and venerable opinion Mar was looking for, he would not find—not in the circus at least. To those who were truly of first class attitude, the circus was just a group full of vagabonds. Mar’s soul came to terms with this truth, and the fact that he wasn’t opposed to it surprised himself. He blamed it on being in the circus too long—everyone’s humble natures had tainted him. Even without someone’s esteemed judgment, Mar still thought himself magnificent, and capable of winning hearts—so why didn’t he go out into the greater world and do just that? The answer was really quite simple—he didn’t want to; not after meeting the other members of Seventeen Sorcerers, and especially not after leaving them to become part of the Grimm Troupe. _

_ Indeed, with the Grimm Troupe, everything seems to happen overnight. When did Altia collapse, and fall into disarray and anarchy? There was no exact moment, but when it happened, Mar did not let himself express any sentiments regarding it outwardly. He did what he knew how to do best, and acted. But the strange thing about acting is that if you do it for too long, you’ll start to believe the circumstances surrounding your act. Whether that is something done by choice or not is up for debate in Mar’s case. If you are really good at what you do, then others might start to believe you, too.  _

_ The Grimm Troupe is not a conventional circus, not completely, at least. Circuses like to travel in a circle, they usually find the way back to their starting point. This is because there’s always masses who anxiously await their return after they have left. But no one anxiously awaits the Grimm Troupe—no one is even aware that they’ll show up. If you account for the fact that the Troupe shows up in a series of different places, then they are the same in that respect. _

_ In a normal circus, performers generally earn their wages depending on how much business and attention they attract. There’s a hierarchy, too, with the most skilled acrobats and performers at the top, and with oddities and misfits at the bottom. In the Grimm Troupe, no such concepts exist. _

_ Every circus needs a leader, someone to manage their activities as they see fit—but you will often find that these leaders are not present when it’s actually show time. They’re off, handling other matters, letting the members take care of all the important business. When the time comes though, they will make sure everyone is seeing through to their tasks. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	14. Chapter 14

“It’s getting to be quite late—off with you both, before the King comes in here and raids my Ancestral Mound,” said the shaman. “I expect to never see your faces around here again, Hollow and Ghost, you hear?”

It was only a joke though—the shaman thoroughly enjoyed the siblings’ company.

“Okay,” Hollow addressed as they were leaving the grounds, “as long as you sneak in undetected, we won’t arouse any suspicion, but how am I going to get you in?”

Ghost tapped their brother and pointed at themselves. 

Hollow squinted, “Do you want to get yourself inside?”

They nodded.

“I guess you would know, huh? I mean, you single-handedly snuck out...or was it that clown Monarch who helped you?”

If Ghost was able to voice their laughter, they would have—they nodded again.

The siblings stopped walking midway, and Hollow led Ghost to a bench nearby. He sat them down and decided to talk with them in earnest—none of what Ghost did was very becoming for a member of the Royal Family, or the youngest child, either. But Hollow didn’t want to lecture Ghost, they already dealt with enough of that at home. 

“I need to know, why did you leave the palace?” Hollow prompted gently. “Were you, I mean, I don't know, Ghost, when I saw you like that earlier, I didn’t know what to think.”

They stared at each other intently; Hollow occasionally lowered his eyes while speaking.

“You and Monarch, I care about you both—more than you can imagine. So when I saw you hurt like you were, I nearly felt my world come crashing down. If I hadn’t lied to Ogrim, then what would Father have said—what would he have done to you? I didn’t want to find out, even now that I think about it, I don’t want to bear to find out. Do you grow tired of the palace? Is that it? Do you wish you had just a bit more liberty?”

The knight didn’t gesture a yes or a no; liberty wasn’t something they thought about when they left—not entirely at least. They wanted to see that circus. It seemed that one could not have what they wanted without liberty though. So maybe they did wish they had just a bit more liberty.

“Please, don’t do it again. What if I’m not there to save you next time?” he mumbled sadly. “What if you do it again, and you’re found out...do you think me too pessimistic? I’m sorry, I can’t help it—being your brother and the son of the King puts me in such a strained position.”

Ghost grabbed Hollow’s hand—they heard him loud and clear, and they wanted them to know that.

“Did you...did you at least have fun?” Hollow said with a bit more optimism.

Oh yes, Ghost certainly did have fun. It started when they rode the stag—the creature moved so fast that the air currents tickled Ghost’s face and body. They enjoyed how the darkness of the stagways played tricks on their vision; first, it seemed like they were going nowhere, but every single gallop was a step closer to their long awaited destination. When they finally arrived at Dirtmouth, the crowds were so incongruous, so loud and so buzzy—they contradicted the White Palace in all the right ways. And then there was Dirtmouth, and Ghost had picked up a stranger’s sack because they wanted to—and no one was there to stop them. Ghost was called a stunner—they didn’t know what that meant, but they’d remember to write it down somewhere and ask Quirrel.

The Grimm Troupe—they were everything Ghost expected them to be. They were all very nice—except for the musician. The knight wondered if they did something wrong in showing up? It was all an accident though, Ghost didn’t mean to hold that flyer in their hands and provoke him.

“I can see you’re in deep thought...did you meet anyone new?”

Grimm, the one and only troupe leader, was the first creature to come to mind. Why did they touch them? Ghost still felt a trace of his presence on their face. They wanted to tell Hollow that the image of Grimm smiling wouldn’t leave them. They also wanted to tell Hollow that thinking about them made Ghost feel a glimmer of joy, and that the Troupe Master’s face was cute, and his eyes—especially his eyes—were very appealing. They wanted to tell Monarch, too—but what if he made fun of them?

_“Well at least I’m not fainting over a second-rate singer.”_

Ghost nodded triumphantly— they would spell out every single word as clear as crystal, and shove the paper in their brother’s face. Why did Monarch like Songstress Marissa so much, anyways? She wasn’t that great.

“Ghost?” said Hollow cheerily, “you can tell me everything later, I want to hear about it. Let’s get going, before we truly arouse suspicion.”

_“Forgive me, but I’m going to have to leave out a few details. I can’t tell you how I want to go back and see them again.”_

A relief it was, Ghost having a mask on and all. They didn’t want Hollow to try and read their mind.

The siblings rang the station’s bell, and a stag made his way out of the shadows and into the light. Given that they were the only passengers present, the stag asked Hollow and Ghost where they wanted to go.

“The Ancient Basin? Not too many folks venture there—climb aboard.”

_“Hollow...I know you can’t hear me, but I love you...you’re the best brother ever.”_

Even at their youngest, Hollow was always there for Ghost.

_“I’m tired, I’m going to snooze for a little.”_

They leaned into Hollow’s shoulder like he was the most comfortable pillow in the world.

_“Maybe all three of us can go to Dirtmouth one day—I’d like that very much.”_

Wrapping his arm around Ghost, Hollow inched them closer to him, and they both closed their eyes and allowed themselves to relax in each other’s presence. They felt like they had nothing to fear, and they weren’t very anxious about getting home; whatever chaos happened earlier was now totally out of mind. With Ghost healed up and fine, and a plan to get them home without anyone knowing, the night felt complete—having a stag all to themselves was the cherry on top.

\--

_Ghost yawned; they were sitting down on a thick piece of wood fastened to a tree by two ropes. They were on a hill, and it was twilight. Ghost was nestled between daylight and darkness; everything below them was obscured from view, while the sky above emitted light that could not be seen through. The horizon was visible, and the sunset peeked out just underneath some clouds that swallowed each other; whatever surrounded the expanse of the horizon was dim._

_Evidently, there were some more trees in the distance, and they stood tall and without their leaves—all one could see was their papery branches. Light from the sky passed through the apertures in the tree limbs, and coruscated onto the parched grass beneath; they looked like orange will-o’the-wisps. Crickets chirped and chirped—it must have been the males singing their love songs. It was all very pretty. One cricket even jumped up and landed on Ghost’s lap; it rubbed its wings together and then leapt into the darkness. The soft sound of a flute accompanied the crickets’ chirping; it was Sincere, standing behind a tree and playing who knows what._

_Ghost sat idly, just barely moving on the makeshift swing; suddenly, it started swinging. The knight hadn’t turned around yet, but it was Grimm who was pushing and pulling the sides of Ghost’s body. He did it all very gently, and at one point, he stopped the swing and asked Ghost if he could use it. They shook their head, and Grimm continued pushing them._

_“You’re so heavy,” mused the Troupe Master. “Why are you so heavy?”_

_Funnily enough, the only tree to have leaves was the one that the swing was on; as soon as the wind picked up, they started gliding downwards. One fell on the top of Ghost’s head, but he didn’t bother removing it._

_Once again, Grimm stopped the swing; unlike before, he ushered Ghost off and then pressed them flush against the tree. He whispered sensuously to them, asking if they could get on. This time, Ghost said yes._

_Grimm didn’t need Ghost’s help with the swing, until the very end. He turned around and grinned, and told Ghost to push them. A few strained pushes later, the swing shot up and fell back down, but Grimm was nowhere to be seen._

“ _Psst, wake up. We’re home.”_

Ghost slowly opened their eyes—so they were. Coldness from the Basin chilled Hollow and Ghost slightly; they couldn’t wait to dive under their warm blankets and sleep the day’s events away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hollow and Ghost: *talking shit about Songstress Marissa*  
> Monarch: SHE IS VERY GORGEOUS TO ME!!  
> —  
> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15's theme: "Magnolia" by Snow in April

Unmatched relief was exhaled by Hollow; there weren't a great deal of guards around the palace, so this meant that everything could go according to plan. In the front of the palace gates, there were two large sentries with shields and nails, and the outer perimeter had a few winged sentries who were only equipped with nails. They may have been inferior to the Great Knights of Hallownest in skill, but they were still very strong and not to be messed with. 

In the case of a lot of the soldiers of the kingdom, many were the youngest in their families. Because the youngest are regarded as special or exceptionally different from their siblings, society sees it as an honor for them to serve the Pale King as sentries; these values apply to female bugs just as they do with males. In any event, there is always importance attached to any creature who can serve Hallownest. These attitudes do frame themselves as a double edged sword, however, as one who can no longer serve their kingdom in a way that is seen as beneficial will unwittingly join the dregs of society.

Though it wasn’t an enormous structure, the White Palace was glorious in architecture, and reflected its King in many ways; the exterior had a unique, convex arch with six pointed projections. The top was fashioned to look like the kingly form of the Pale King, and there was an insignia above the casing of the palace entrance. There were huge, curved pillars that encircled the whole of the premises, and various metal poles that also shared the same design as the King’s form. The palace had a lot of nooks and crannies, and it was through these that Ghost was able to escape and evade detection earlier.

“You think you can sneak through that window from earlier without a problem?” asked Hollow, “none of the guards are remotely aware of our presence yet, so it’s best you go quickly. I’ll see you back in our wing of the palace, okay?”

Ghost left hurriedly, utilizing quick sprints and dashes to reach the famed window. They nearly caught the attention of a flying guard, but they hid behind a rock.

“I swear I saw something,” he said. “Maybe it’s time for a break…”

Even after Ghost concealed themselves, the guard continued to scope out the area—he flew high up to get an aerial view of the place, but all he saw were the other guards and Prince Hollow. Ghost patiently waited for them to pass out of sight, and when they did, they crept out from behind the rock. They nearly had a heart attack, because there was another guard standing right there, though they weren’t facing their direction; Ghost leapt behind the rock and covered their mouth. Footsteps approached slowly, and they curled up in an attempt to make themselves look smaller, wishing they could revert back to the tiny stature they had when they were younger. The patrolling came to a stop, but Ghost wasn’t sure if they should peak out yet. At last, the guard walked away, and the sound of their steps echoed further and further away until they could no longer be heard. The cost was clear.

Though the window was a bit high up, Ghost swarmed up the ragged palace with relative ease, and then took a gander inside to see if anyone was present. There was no one, so Ghost dove head first and landed swiftly on their arms and legs. 

“Welcome home.”

Ghost’s head jerked up and they started, but there were no guards or servants awaiting them—it was just Monarch; immediately, they rammed him with their elbow.

“Ow! I help you get out this place, and this is the thanks I get?”

They nodded.

“I had a feeling you’d be home soon—so I decided to wait for you—and by the way, I saw you looking through the window. You should really be more careful, but you’ll get better with experience,” he babbled. “So, how was it?”

Whatever overcame Ghost at that moment was beyond words, because they immediately thought of their ordeal in Deepnest and saw all the events playing back in a loop—from the webs that entangled them mercilessly, to the giant Spiders and Weavers who assaulted them without warning.

“Ghost? Ghost—”

_“Do better,” said the King._

Ghost remembered when they were slammed on the cold, harsh ground—they tried to outstretch their arms to protect themselves, but their foe had no intentions of letting them survive. They grabbed Ghost so carelessly, so forcibly, and they proceeded to attack them without any regard for their life. Ghost’s heart hammered in their chest.

“Ghost! Why are you breathing so hard?! What’s wrong—” cried Monarch.

An influx of voices and livid memories hit the knight all at once.

_“This palace, it’s your home, it’s the place where you will bear witness to the ever present veneration for the King of Hallownest. You will one day carry out your duties here, and lead the humble creatures of this kingdom to greatness—do you think of your own children, Ghost? This destiny shall be bestowed on them, as well.”_

_“Where ya from, Ghost? Ya live around here?”_

_“Yeah, you seem different from everyone else here, but what do I know?”_

_Different?_

Something unusual and unsought for filled a slot in Ghost’s memories—it looked at them with no countenance—not that it could have one though; it was black, and shapeless. When Ghost tried to examine this entity, appendages rose up and vehemently pushed them away.

“Hollow?!” shouted Monarch with apprehension.

 _“Mmm, I hope you’re not thinking about joining_.”

Ghost attempted to take another glance into their psyche, but all they found were some sweet memories—not like the ones of Deepnest. They felt warm when they recalled that time Mato hugged them.

“Ghost?” Hollow said while shaking their shoulders. “Ghost—”

There was some fear in their core; there was excitement, sadness, and then, it was as if they had and felt nothing. They felt like they had no core to hold their deepest and most personal experiences in.

_What is this contrast? It’s like the rising and receding tide on a shore._

_“I invite you to come back here soon, Ghost.”_

_“Petulant child, I’d think twice about disrespecting me if I were you,” the Pale King admonished. “You will fight those beasts.”_

“Let’s just go lie them down,” Monarch suggested uneasily. At once, Hollow picked up his unresponsive sibling and took them to their room. They laid Ghost on their bed, but they weren’t sure how to proceed—it was as if Ghost was in a trance.

“Ghost,” Monarch said firmly, “what’s wrong? Please Ghost, what’s wrong?”

_“You’re very skilled. I had a lot of fun—maybe we can do that again sometime.”_

The knight blinked. They sat up and looked around. Monarch and Hollow’s faces were overwrought, and they appeared slightly unnerved. Ghost waved at them, and they slowly waved back.

“Ghost...what happened? Wha-what was that? Were you playing tricks on us?” Monarch said quietly. “I was...I was worried!”

He whacked Ghost over the head with their nail and they winced in pain. 

“That’s the second scare you gave me today,” Hollow noted. “Is everything okay? What happened?”

Their gaze fell and they looked at their cloak and legs, but otherwise gave no response. Hollow pulled them into a hug and began skimming his fingers across their back. “I have no words...you weren’t visibly hurt or anything, and I didn’t know what to do. You’re okay now though—I’m here, Ghost.”

“Dear Radiance, please don’t let that happen again,” Monarch pleaded before laying down next to their sibling. “Hey, so, regarding earlier...wait!”

Ghost tilted their head.

“I...I’m afraid to ask you...because what if _that_ happens again. You know what I’m talking about, right?”

Ghost pointed at their satchel, and Hollow went to grab some paper and a quill from inside.

“Okay, good, but don’t freak out on us again,” said Monarch. “Start from scratch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't make any promises on no more weird/fucked up stuff happening to Ghost in the future but the next chapter will be a mostly funny/lighthearted one with our three siblings.  
> Side note is that Monarch may or may not be my favorite sibling...wbu?


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,  
> now that quarantine is over and I must go back to my duties, I won’t be so quick on uploads but I promise I won’t forget about this story.  
> Thank you to my lovely readers for reading this far, I appreciate it so much you have no idea. I hope you’re all doing alright today ☻.

* * *

**“I heard Isma and Dryya talking about a circus...I know what they are, but I’ve never seen one up close—only in pictures in books at the library. I know that they are filled with misfits and performers. I tried asking them about it, but they didn’t understand me. Monarch popped up with good timing though—”**

*thump*

Ghost stopped writing mid sentence—Hollow hit Monarch upside the head.

“WHAT was THAT for?!” he screeched.

“The question is, WHAT isn’t it for,” Hollow said in response, “you have a big role to play in all of this—”

Monarch shot him a look of confusion, “All of what?”

“Just wait for Ghost to finish explaining.”

“You’re the one who hit me!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “Okay whatever! Finish, Ghost.”

“There’s going to be a lot more where that came from—”

“SHHH!” hushed Monarch, holding a finger up. Ghost was also doing the same.

**_“_** **And noticed my curiosity...”**

Once again, the eldest looked at Monarch with dismay.

**_“_** **So he told me how to escape from that window, and showed me too. I was reluctant, extremely reluctant, but the rush of excitement I got in that moment was enough to outweigh any logical decision I could have made.** **_”_ **

“It be like that,” Monarch murmured.  
“It, it _what_ like that?” questioned Hollow before laughing, “why did you talk like that?”

“Oh, it’s just some lingo I picked up from the Crossroads’ Village.”

“Well what does it mean?”

“You know...it be like that!” replied the Prince naturally. “If it be like that, then that means that it be like that! It just is.”

Hollow scratched his head, “So why can’t you just say that it’s like that sometimes? What’s the point of adding ‘be’?”

“The ‘be’,” he explained, “just makes it sound cooler. You should try it.”

*poke*

It’d be a lie if Ghost said that Monarch and Hollow’s side conversation wasn’t ticking them off—Ghost jabbed both of them with their quill, and wrote for them to be quiet. The brothers apologized.

**“I found the stag station, but I didn’t know where to go, or where this circus could possibly be—I took my chances, and went to a town called Dirtmouth. The odds were in my favor, and I found it. It’s a cute, but humble town. Oh yes, some slug came up to me and called me a ‘stunner’. What does that mean?”**

“Uh,” said Hollow, “I’m...not really sure. It sounds like a compliment?”

“Why are you looking at me?” Monarch questioned. 

“You’re clearly the King of Lingo, so what does ‘stunner’ mean?”

Monarch rolled his shoulders back and leaned against the wall before laughing mysteriously. “You fools...is it not obvious? It means one who stuns.”

**“But how?”**

When Hollow’s stomach growled, he realized that it’s been awhile since dinner time.

“Uh, perhaps that slug thought you so ugly, that you stunned them? Hahaha!” 

*thump*

Prince Monarch sat rubbing his head again in pain. “Ouch...okay, continue on with the story.” 

**“She came inside with me, and I paid for her admission. Was that technically a date? Oh yes, she said she was in love with me, I do not know how that’s possible! Anyways, we sat together. It felt weird, I’ve never been around so many commoners. The show began soon after, and the circus’ leader made himself known...I have a lot to say about him.”**

The eldest inhaled deeply and squinted at Ghost, “Like what?”

Ghost scribbled something down, but covered it with their hands.

“Come on! Don’t be like that,” said Monarch. “Let’s see it.”

Ghost shook their head.

“Yes.”

They shook their head again.

“YES!”

For the third time, they said no.

The next two minutes were filled with disagreement, in that Ghost refused to show Hollow and Monarch what they wrote, which led to Monarch trying to snatch the paper away from Ghost, and Hollow just sitting there with an amused look on his face. _This was his life_ right now. He was enjoying every second of it.

When Hollow was still very small, he didn’t expect to have any siblings. That was, until, the Pale King told him about the role he was to play in the kingdom. The King then told him that he’d be the eldest brother to the future ruler of Hallownest—it came as a shock, but knowing that, Hollow set out to be someone who could both guide, and protect their sibling if need be. He thinks he learned being so affectionate from the White Lady; she was strict, and could come off as cold a lot of the time, but Hollow knew that there was a heart underneath that exterior. He didn’t forget all the kisses, and little gifts that the White Lady used to give him. One time, she read Hollow a bedtime story, though that was a long time ago. Still though, it remained one of the Prince’s favorite memories. As for the King…

“Stop thinking about Dryya and pay attention!”

_That_ came as a surprise to Hollow.

“What? Alright, that came out of nowhere...and I was not thinking about Dryya—”

“So you admit it, then.”

Hollow seemed very confused, “Admit what?”

“That you are smitten with her...I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“I mean, I don’t know, she’s cool, and strong. I think we’ve only ever had small talk...I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. She seems interesting, and I think she’s pretty.”

Out of the three siblings, Hollow was the most candid; Monarch and Ghost were taken aback by his statement.

**“Wow,”** wrote Ghost. 

“AHA! So you think this circus leader is cute, huh?” exclaimed Monarch while looking over their paper. “You let your guard down. So what do you have to say about him?”

**“I was getting to that. The performance was splendid—there was an acrobat, and a singer—”**

“SURELY NOT better than Songstress Marissa—”

Hollow sighed, “Here we go…”

**“In my opinion, she actually does sound better than Marissa—and she looks better, too.”**

The eldest roared with laughter, “Wow! Do you see that? What are you going to do about it?”

“I’M LEAVING! GOODNIGHT HOLLOW AND GHOST!” said Monarch as he got up from the bed. “This is an outrage—”

“You know, now that I think about it, she really isn’t all that great—” chimed in Hollow.

“YOU’RE not that great—” Monarch interjected.

“I think her voice cracked the last time I went to see one of her performances—”

“The only thing that’s cracked is—wait a minute, what happened to your eye? WHY did I just notice?!”

Ghost tapped the paper impatiently with their quill and the brothers apologized again.

**“There was also an accordion-playing musician, and a few others. It was a performance based around lots of fire—the leader possesses some kind of power over it, I suppose it’s like magic. I quite enjoyed everything I saw, even if it was in an environment I wouldn’t typically see myself in. After it ended, the lady slug told me to visit her shop in Crossroads’ Village, and she left. I lingered for a little, and some commoner tossed a flyer in my hands. That’s when things got interesting.”**

Prince Monarch rubbed his hands together furiously, “Deliver the tea.”

The scribbling came quickly after his statement. 

**“I beg your pardon?”**

“I assume that’s more strange lingo you picked up...what does it mean? How are you delivering tea?” Hollow inquired analytically. “Furthermore, why tea of all things? Why not water, or some other substance?”

Monarch walked over to the front of Ghost’s bedroom with his hands behind his back.

“It’s time for a quick lesson, you whippersnappers—”

“I’m older than you?” Hollow remarked.

“TEA refers to what we might call, prattle—it’s nothing but gossip, a cornucopia of interesting and thought-provoking information. The creatures of Hallownest love to ingest this gossip like they love to ingest their tea. Do you see the connection?”

“Absolutely not,” Hollow deadpanned.

Monarch flumped on the pristine floor, “Well I wouldn’t expect a _geezer_ to understand.”

Ghost held their paper up.

**“You’ve been outside far too much.”**

“Bleargh, you sound like Father—continue the story!”

**“The flyer said that they were looking for new members, and the musician saw me with it. He wasn’t too happy with the idea that I wanted to join, and he wanted me out of there as soon as possible. But just then, the circus leader showed up. His name is Grimm. After that, we fought, or as he said, we ‘danced’.”**

“Is it circus etiquette to just engage in battle with creatures you don’t know?” Monarch queried, “if so, I want in!”

“Uh no you do not,” said Hollow. “Okay Ghost, continue.”

**“He’s a strong opponent. I’ve never faced a creature like him before, but regardless, I managed to win. It’d be a lie if I said I didn’t have fun—”**

“Achoo! Whoops, excuse me,” said Hollow. “Fun? I don’t like the sound of that—”

**“Bless you,”** Ghost wrote on their paper; Hollow thanked them.

“Our Ghost is growing up!” cheered Monarch.“They’re going on dates, dancing with creepy dudes at the circus, the list is endless. It won’t be long before they’re a fully realized ruler as well.”

“What does being a ruler have to do with the other two subjects you just mentioned?”

A clicking noise and hum indicated that Prince Monarch was genuinely pondering on Hollow’s question. “You know what, absolutely nothing—continue! I want to hear the rest of this. Ah, but it's getting really late, isn’t it?”

**“It is, and we should probably be going to sleep soon, we’ve important things to do tomorrow.”**

“We’ll call it a day, Ghost can finish this story tomorrow night,” said Hollow. “As for my eye, well, you can find out tomorrow, too. It’s a long story.”

Monarch and Hollow made their way to the entrance of Ghost’s room; they said goodnight to each other, but Hollow stayed a tad longer than his brother did.

“Ghost?”

They were setting aside their paper and quill on their nightstand, and hanging their nail up on the wall.

“Protect yourself, okay?”

Ghost didn’t say anything, they only looked at Hollow; before he left, Hollow kissed his sibling on the forehead and bid them goodnight. Such a sweet gesture left no impression on Ghost, but they would be sure to return it one day. Hours later, the knight laid in their soft, warm bed and dreamt a most saccharine dream about their father and Grimm—it was a rather interesting combination; it was the kind of dream that appeared so real, you weren’t sure if you were awake or not. 

In the middle of the night, Ghost had woken up because they were in dire need of a cathartic release from a tumbleweed of unexplained emotions; the poor creature’s pillow was drenched with moisture by the time they finished crying. The tears which lapped their face were new, foreign, and they felt very good. Whatever swam out of their eyes was an amalgam of thoughts, hopes, worries, fears, and sadness that coalesced into a cloud that could no longer bear the weight of the past, present, and future any longer. As the saying goes, there’s a first time for everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deliver the tea is basically the Hallownest equivalent of “what’s the tea”.  
> Disclaimer: I do not claim credit for the phrase “what’s the tea”. All credit goes to the communities in which it was created. Credit also goes to the respective communities “it be like that” came from. Language is cool.


	17. Chapter 17

At the crack of dawn, the Pale King awoke in a cold sweat; his headache was gone, but now he felt chilled, yet hot at the same time. When he placed a hand on his head, it was quite warm; his body also ached, and his throat was sore and dry. Sickness like this wouldn’t alarm a regular bug, but the Pale King was not regular, and this was a strange phenomenon because he really expected to be completely healed by the morning. The first thing the King did was try to heal with soul, but nothing happened, all he could say was that he felt more invigorated.

The King looked at his clock, which read 7:00 am. Surely the White Lady must have been awake by now; as for his children, they usually awoke by 9:00.

Today, there was going to be a conference to discuss the future of Deepnest; at this meeting, the Pale King would be joined by the White Lady, the Five Great Knights, his children, and his ally, Xero. In addition to this, the Seer, a member of the Moth Tribe, would also be there. The Seer was an old and unusual creature; before the Pale King took over as the ruler of Hallownest, she would serve as a guide due to her powers, which can only be described as a thing similar to precognition. She is also clairvoyant, and is connected to the Dream Realm, due to her relation to the Radiance. To say the Pale King was initially skeptical of her capabilities was an understatement, but she had proven time and time again that she was indeed reliable; all her past deeds with former rulers were proof of that. Her purpose for assisting the kings, queens, and rulers of Hallownest was not because she wanted to out of the goodness of her heart, but because it was allegedly her duty given to her by the Radiance herself. It had been a while since she had seen the King and Queen, the last time being when Ghost was born.

For now, the only thing the Pale King could do was wait his sickness out; it couldn’t possibly get worse, right?

*knock knock*

“Yes, come in,” said the King. In came the White Lady, and behind her was the same servant from yesterday with some more tea—it was a different kind this time.

“Good morning, your Majesty,” she said tersely before placing the cup down on the nightstand; she took the other one and bowed before leaving the room.

“You look terrible,” the White Lady said bluntly.

He didn’t give her the satisfaction of responding to that. “...Good morning to you too. I see you’ve brought me more useless—”

She gave him a death stare, as if _daring_ the King to finish that statement.

“More uh, delicious tea for this prevailing sickness,” he finished while taking a light sip; he grimaced at its bitterness and put it back down. Must he really consume such an acrid drink?

“This one is more potent—”

Coughing, he nodded, “Clearly.”

“As I was saying, it’s more potent in nature, Monomon told me about it—we can only hope that it will work. I can’t believe you’re still sick, though. This has never happened before.”

“Well, whatever it is, I trust that it will disappear soon enough. Either way, I can’t let it hinder my activities…”

“What happened? You look like you want to say something.”

Clearing his throat, he got up from the bed, “...I’m hungry.”

“It is not even time to eat yet.”

To the Pale King, those were fighting words. “It is always time to eat. Anyways, if you don’t want to join me, that is fine too. I’d prefer to eat without your disturbance.”

No one knew the Pale King and the White Lady more than the Pale King and White Lady; that is to say, with their servants, subordinates, children, they acted a certain way, but the facade broke when they were alone and together. Roots and Wyrms could have personalities too, though it was a common misconception that all Higher Beings’ dispositions were contingent on their nature. Now whether Higher Beings made good parents, that was up for debate.

“So, you are saying you don’t want my company, you ungrateful little maggot?”

“That is what I said you—”

Insulting the White Lady? Who could do such a thing? It’d have to be when flowers talk, or when the underworld freezes over. All it took for the Pale King to stop mid sentence and swallow his words was one doe-eyed, blue look from his wife. But wait, was she going to cry?

How typical, for one to be able to insult their partner so casually, but for the partner to be unable to do the same. Was it love, or some kind of joke?

A soft, sniffling sound came from White Lady; she was crying, because how dare the King even think about calling her a name other than the Queen, my Queen, my Love, my Beloved, etcetera. What was a Pale King to do? The only other time she cried was when a little Monarch fell out the window from the top floor, and she thought he died. Oh, but when she found out he wasn’t dead, she made sure to show him only the harshest of disciplines. Did the King ever cry? What do you think?

“Huh? Why do you cry?”

To understand is to know, but one who knows does not always understand.

“Do not play dumb you wretched pale thing! You were going to insult me! Don’t try and deny it, I saw it, I heard it, the poison in your face and voice!”

_Poison?_ The Pale King had not the faintest idea of any poison, but he did stop himself from saying something potentially mean.

“But I did not say anything—”

“Oh stop all your yammering, you rotting berry on a broken stem! Just, just leave me be!”

And then she cradled her beautiful face in her hands, and shoved her husband aside and went to lay in his bed; too small it was, but she didn’t care. 

Not even a step in her direction, and the vexed White Lady got up from the bed and (ungraciously) showed the King outside before shutting the door behind her. This was not the first time he was kicked out of his own room.

So there he was, still sick, and outside of his room staring at the cloister-like architecture of his palace; he decided he really needed food right about now.

“Your Majesty?” said the servant Ani, “...where is—”

“She is having some inner turmoil at this moment in time that is causing her to weep.”

“...I beg your pardon?” she replied with bewilderment. “You mean she’s crying?”

“Oh yes, crying. Let us let her be for now.”

That would’ve been fine, but Ani had her job to do. “But your Majesty, it’s time for me to clean and tidy your quarters.”

“Oh Ani, so why didn’t you say so?!” came the Queen’s voice, and she opened the door and straightened her posture, joining the Pale King’s side. Ani wanted to ask the White Lady if she was feeling alright, but she was afraid that it might lead to another emotional outburst, so she settled on something else. “I hope you’re faring well, your Grace.”

“Faring well? Ha! I’m doing exceptionally well, why, what made you think I wasn’t? Actually, don’t answer that! Why don’t we go eat?”

“Huh? Wait-ah!” coughed the King, “you are dragging me a little too roughly—”

“Actually, are those three grubs awake yet? Why don’t they join us! I kind of miss them. Ani, go and wake them all up, go on! Don’t delay,” she asserted.

This must have been one of the White Lady’s strange episodes, where she felt one way, but could quickly do an 180 degree turn in the matter of a few seconds. Ani bowed and quickly left, because she knew better than to voice any kind of question. Questioning for the Queen meant disapproval, which would not be tolerated. 

“You didn’t finish your tea you silly moth! Why don’t I have Ani get it for you—oh wait, I sent her off! Haha! I’ll get it.”

Seconds later, she returned with the warm tea in her hand, urging him to take a drink as she smushed it between her hand and his face. When he took a sip, and then another, and finally gulped down the rest of the bitterness, she clapped in delight.

—————

Monarch and Ghost were light sleepers, as for Hollow? Absolutely not. Ani knocked, and knocked, and knocked, but there was no response, and she couldn’t go in unless she was told to or invited inside.

“You there! Pen!” she said to another servant, “knock on the Prince’s door with me!”

“I thought they didn’t wake up until—”

“Now is not the time for questions! Just do as you’re told.” 

Pen and Ani knocked, and knocked, and _knocked,_ but to no avail.

“His Highness is a heavy sleeper, you know that,” he pointed out. 

She huffed, “Yes I know Pen! But her Grace wants them to eat.”

Rubbing his chin, Pen pointed to another servant, “You there! Dris! Come help us wake this oaf up!”

At the comment, Ani slapped Pen’s arm and whispered harshly, “Oaf?! What if the Queen or King heard you, you absolute nut!”

His mandibles twitched in laughter smugly, “Oh it’s all in good fun—”

“I don’t care! She’d have your head...maybe! Okay, let’s knock,” Ani said with determination.

Dris, Ani, and Pen balled up their fists and unleashed devastating hits on Hollow’s barricade, but all they served to do was make him stir and pull the covers over his face; he mumbled something in his sleep, something along the lines of “No, I don’t want your services, I want to sleep.”

Hallownest could be invaded, taken over by the likes of a greater empire and by storm; foreign troops could march through the White Palace and slay every single one of Hollow’s family members and the servants, and he _still_ wouldn’t wake up. If they came to his quarters and kicked the door down and held Hollow at knife point by the horns, the Prince would snore and probably drool on the assailant’s weapon. On the off chance that an enormous meteorite came down from space and wiped the surrounding kingdom off the face of the planet, a sleep induced Hollow wouldn’t notice until he fluttered his eyes open, cracked his fingers, stretched his arms and torso, and decided he needed some food. In short, Prince Hollow really liked sleeping.

Ruffling his antennas, Dris kicked his door in frustration and slouched against it, “Agh! This isn’t a servant’s job—”

“You be quiet now!” Ani disagreed, “our job is whatever they command us to do. I know this isn’t very glamorous—”

“I’d sooner wipe the bottoms of wine barrels than do this mumbo jumbo,” said Pen’s tired voice. “Stupid Prince—”

“Stupid Prince?”

Monarch’s question came like a bolt from the blue, and the three servants screamed, but quickly fixed themselves and bowed, apologizing profusely for their loud outburst (and Pen’s remark).

_“Now you’ve done it!”_ thought Dris unenthusiastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleepy Hollow, get it?   
> —  
> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shi it’s August!

“So, you think Hollow is stupid?” Monarch questioned gravely, without a hint of amusement or lightheartedness.

“A-absolutely not!” Ani clarified while bowing, “Your Highness, as the head servant of this palace, I take full responsibility for Pen’s comment, and our incompetence at being unable to awaken Prince Hollow.”

There was a silent pause, and Ani stayed bowed; Pen and Dris didn’t dare meet Monarch’s gaze, but Dris shuffled a little closer to his companion and pinched him extremely hard on the arm.

“Well I must tell you...you’re absolutely right!” he bursted. “Gosh, I am so glad someone finally agrees with me…”

“Your Highness?” said Dris cautiously, “you’re not...mad at us and going to chop our heads off?”

“So kind you are, your Highness,” Pen interjected. “...You can go ahead and chop me, I need a vacation.”

*clap*

“Now, now,” Monarch reasoned and clapped his hands again, “I have a very important question for you all.”

“Yes, your Highness?” they said in unison.

“Your lives, no, your FAMILIES’ lives depend on the answer to this inquiry.”

The three of them gulped, and their minds began racing as to what the question could possibly be. Was it something that requires immense thought and calculation? Was it a trick question that only the Prince knew the answer to? And more importantly, would he act if they dared to answer wrongly?

“You are all familiar with...the heavenly, the beautiful, the elegant, the talented and accomplished soloist, Marissa of the City of Tears?”

For someone in Hallownest not to be acquainted with the singer would be a sin among sins (at least in Monarch’s eyes). Her music and voice were next to none, and she even received acclaim from the Queen herself (and they once enjoyed tea together). Marissa being in the White Palace was Monarch’s dream come true, but unfortunately, he wasn’t invited to their engagement, but that didn’t stop him from trying to spy on her. Some would call it creepy, but the Prince called it loyalty and necessary, as it was his sworn duty to protect Songstress Marissa from evil doers and crazy fans.

“Yes your Highness, we know all about Marissa—” Ani started.

“Not more than me, I’m sure!”

“Of course not, your Highness,” she affirmed wholeheartedly.

 _“Oh brother.”_ Pen subtly rolled his eyes.

Behind Hollow’s door, he was content in dreamland, unaware of the colloquy that would soon wake him up, whether he liked it or not.

“Now for the question! How many flowers do each of Marissa’s bouquets have whenever she performs?”

Crickets chirped, and the three servants looked at each other with helplessness, because how were they supposed to know the answer to such a trivially meaningful question? The only one who had ever been to one of her shows was Dris, and even then, he spent more time fawning over her singing than making out the finer details of the stage.

 _“He’s...a diehard!”_ Dris exclaimed mentally. _“Oh my, how many flowers…”_

Inside of the Dining Room, the White Lady wondered why her other two children were taking so long, and she began to display signs of irritation. She was more snappy towards the rest of the servants, and when Ghost showed up and said good morning and bowed, she hotly told them that they weren’t doing it at a ninety-degree angle, and to do it again before they sat down at the huge table. Three attempts later, the Queen was content with their gesture, and as if nothing happened, she lovingly told Ghost to take a seat and drink some water because they were probably thirsty. They were not thirsty, but when Ghost’s mother was disgruntled, they learned _not_ to say or do anything that might nettle her further. Ah, but Ghost was particularly clumsy this morning, and they dropped the glass of water on the table, making their heart sink and the Pale King groan lowly. He ordered a servant to dry the table, and he hid his face in his hands because he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t more or less fed up with the Queen’s attitude today. It wasn’t expressible though, unless he wanted an earful.

“You cute little thing,” Ghost’s mother crooned, “be more careful next time, we wouldn’t want our immaculate floors soiled—please serve Ghost more water, Rose, quicklike!”

Lady Luck graced them this time, because instead of scolding them firmly like she usually would, the White Lady found it endearing and forgivable; it surprised even the Pale King, and he and Ghost looked at each other with mutual relief.

He coughed, and rubbed his temples, remembering that he was still unwell; it alarmed Ghost, but they were hesitant to ask their father if they were sick. Despite all the time they spent together, their relationship was not purely and openly loving as it was no-nonsense and only occasionally affectionate. This often made it difficult for Ghost to open up to their father about how they were feeling without being asked or told to do so. Monarch and Hollow bore similar associations, though Hollow was most comfortable in being forthright with him. If their bonds were placed on a scale, then Hollow’s would be the closest to the King, while Monarch’s would be the furthest away (though he was more attached to the White Lady).

“I hope you’re faring well, Ghost,” the Pale King stated with genuity, “was training successful yesterday?”

Definitely not, but they couldn’t tell the Pale King that, or that they didn’t even train, and that they snuck out, _ever_ ; Ghost nodded and timidly asked the King how they were doing.

“Fine, but I’ve grown slightly ill—”

“Oh, just look at my two lovelies bonding!” bubbled the White Lady. “Ghost, you never ask me how I’m doing!”

False, but the knight let their mother cherry-pick her memories today; they wanted to get the day over with, so they could possibly go out and see the Troupe again— _and Grimm_. Just thinking about the close proximity yesterday made them blush and feel weird. There wasn’t really anything to be embarrassed about, because the Troupe Master had that effect on almost everyone who encountered him. Between yesterday and today, Grimm managed to rack up a few fanboys and girls from sheer looks alone, though some were enamored by what they perceived to be a flawless, charming, and out of this world creature, with a fun and daring personality. Accurate and warranted, but perfection does not and cannot exist; would the bugs still like Grimm if they knew he was cunning, sordid, and with wicked purpose? How about if they knew he liked to eat others’ leftovers without so much as asking?

“I hope you’re ready for today’s meeting, Ghost. Not that you will be leading it or anything, but I expect you to give it only your utmost attention, and answer questions if I need you to. Understand?” said the Pale King. 

_“Understood,”_ Ghost nodded.

“Good morning,” two voices uttered in malcontent and tiredness. At last, Monarch and Hollow arrived, and they looked like they had just gotten into a scuffle of some kind. Simultaneously, they bowed and went to sit down, and now, the table was full of questions and chatter.

“Hollow, your eye!” gasped the White Lady with intense disturbance, “what is the meaning of this?”

“I too wonder what the meaning of it is,” Monarch interposed while fidgeting with a napkin.

“...Hollow, tell me everything that happened yesterday. Break it all down,” said the King solemnly. “Can you...see?”

He sighed, “Yes Father, I can see, but only from my right eye…”

Ghost and the eldest gave each other knowing looks, Hollow’s being more reassuring that he wouldn’t even think to oust them to the King and Queen.

“Anyways, the operation was going smoothly at first, and there wasn’t a single Spider or enemy in sight. Soon after, the...Princess of Deepnest showed up, as did others, and we fought a decisive battle, a battle to claim territory I suppose. Ogrim fended off the others, and I engaged in combat with the Princess, and at one point, she struck me in the eye with her needle.”

“Nimble little Spider she grew up to be.” the Pale King muttered to himself.

“...Excuse me?” said Hollow, not missing an opportunity to ask a burning question about yesterday’s episode.

“Nevermind that—” interrupted his mother.

“What do you mean by that?” he said with more determination. “Do you know her?”

Monarch and Ghost listened wordlessly, but the tension made them both uncomfortable to the core. Amongst all the chatter, the servants carefully set down all the dining essentials, though they let the controversy and gossip slip into their heads to use as material for conversation later.

“Do not speak out of line and about what doesn’t concern you, Hollow,” said the King simply. “Continue the—”

“No,” challenged the Prince, “I asked you about this yesterday too, and—”

It went deathly silent, until the King had a coughing fit; the reason for the silence was because he told Hollow to not speak out of line, but they refused to listen. Using soul like limbs and as an extension of himself, the King seized Hollow by the neck, putting just enough pressure to hinder his breathing, but not stop it completely.

The action brought back memories, _not so_ happy memories, painful memories that involved learning your place in the world and being content with it, for all three siblings. A regular child was hard to tame, to make understand, under the supervision of normal parents; but Hollow, Monarch, and Ghost were no regular children with normal parents. They were the offspring of Root and Wyrm, Higher Beings who held only an understanding of the universe as they saw it fit for their narratives. Additionally, they were royalty, held in high esteem, they sat at the top of the food chain and were supposed to gaze down at all other creatures in their kingdom with objectivity and only as much emotion as was necessary— _if_ it was necessary. Alas, limitations could not help but come into play, and as such, you had the case of Hollow and Monarch, who questioned and created and thought and felt differently than they were supposed to. Ghost was very similar, but also different, _quite_ different, and their physical and mental manifestations would be proof of this.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Hollow?” the King stated in a raspy tone, coughing again.

He nodded as much as he could, and when his Father finally let go of him, he coughed and gazed at the food with indignity, but also with a _hint_ of defiance.

“Rose, what are you looking at out of the corner of your eye?” the White Lady said with a bad temper.

Rose the servant froze up and felt like turning to dust, because she had never been reprimanded by the Queen before. Her mind scrambled to find the right thing to do or say, and she felt even more panicked and uncomfortable when Monarch and Hollow looked at her.

“Rose, what are you waiting for? Stop looking at us and go do your work!” snapped the Queen; Hollow didn’t miss the quiver in Rose’s voice as she excused herself. He regretted looking into her ashamed, beady eyes, and immediately moved his gaze to her white smock. 

Soon after, Monarch excused himself from the table because he felt his eyes welling up with tears at seeing his older brother in such a sorry state, and being unable to do anything about it. 

A servant caught Monarch in the act, but they made no moves to console him or anything—they had work to do. They also did it for the Prince’s sake, because they didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	19. Mini-descriptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello :),  
> this isn’t technically a chapter, but it’s just a little thing I decided to upload, mostly to give better visuals on my Grimm Troupe ocs (also, it gets my writing gears grinding). I might add more character profiles in the future, and if I do, they’ll be labeled 2,3 so on and so forth.

**Grimm** : 2 inches | Color: black and scarlet

Not much is known about Grimm, other than the fact that he’s playful and has an interest in Hallownest. He is the leader of the Grimm Troupe. 

**Brumm** : 1.5 inches | Color: black, grey, red

The musician of the Grimm Troupe, and one of its original members; he’s known to be very intimidating and off putting. Brumm likes spending time with Grimm, it seems. 

**Divine** : 1.7 inches | Color: grey, pink

A talented singer, and original member of the Grimm Troupe; she’s mischievous and too expensive to be around. Divine is actually more intelligent than she lets on. 

**Sincere** : 3 inches | Color: sand

Sincere is a White-tailed scorpion with an elongated cephalothorax, who stands on two legs, but can walk on all eight. He wears a jade bangle on each of his arms, and has a quiet, reserved demeanor, though it is not to be confused with a meek one. His height and often indifferent expression can be scary. Sincere’s mask looks like a horizontal half circle, and allows his pincers to proudly stick out; a single flower decorates it. He hails from the desert kingdom Orcholin. 

**Pea** : ¼ inches | Color: dark brown

Pea is a termite from the kingdom Altia, who lived near the ocean-side town Ceano. Pea’s small stature has given her trouble, but numerous advantages as well. She’s best friends with Mar. Pea dons a mask where one of her rotund eyes is visible, though the other is not. A tiny eye hole lays diagonally from the other, and makes the mask look comical, but cute. The termite and Mar wear matching green kerchiefs. 

**Fleur** : 1.5 inches | color: black, red, yellow

Fleur is a ladybug, and wears no mask, though she does sport a lace capelet that has black flowers hanging from the ends. Her most noticeable features are her heart shaped antennas. For Fleur, the name of her kingdom and hometown are hard to remember. Grimm once told Divine that the ladybug has good accuracy.

**Mar** : 1.6 inches | color: blue, black, orange, white

Mar’s colorful wings are pretty, though they can give unsuspecting creatures a scare. He was born and raised in Ceano, and joined the circus Seventeen Sorcerers for great fame, though his plans ended up changing. The butterfly is flamboyant, and likes to tease his best friend, Pea. Mar wears a winged, diamond shaped mask, adding to his unusual and over the top flair. 

—

Other notable character heights

**Hollow** : 2.1 inches

**The White Lady** : Roughly 2.5 inches

**The Pale King** : 1.5 inches-1.6 inches because of his big ass head. 

**Ghost** : Roughly 1.5 inches

**Monarch** : 1.5 inches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are not their actual in-game heights, lord knows what those are. As they say on math tests, not drawn to scale...anyways, this is just how I picture their heights for my story. I leave the rest to everyone’s imaginations.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are my readers doing well? I hope so ﾂ.

*jab* *jab*

_ “Ugh, who is bothering me?” _

*jab* *jab*

_ “Let me sleep in peace…” _

The poking didn’t stop, and by this point, Brumm started to get irritated, _ increasingly _ . Whoever was bothering him, he’d ensure they’d meet a timely and well deserved demise. But first, sleep.

*poke poke poke poke*

_ “Go away.” _

A musician as hard working as Brumm deserved his rest, and he wished whoever was disturbing him understood that. He’d let them off the hook this time.

“Psst,” they whispered, but Brumm continued to feign sleep in hopes that they’d leave him alone. He kept his eyes shut tight and he didn’t move a muscle, he only breathed and swallowed whenever he needed to. Oh, the prodding stopped.  _ Finally _ , and now, for some quality time—

“Brumm, Brumm, Brumm,” they said incessantly and playfully.

_ “Do they not know how to take a hint?” _

“Brumm—”

“Shhhh!” he hushed harshly, turning on his stomach and covering his face with his bulky arms.

Following his objections was someone’s low pitch chuckle, and they whispered “you must wake up” before saying Brumm’s name again. 

Brumm’s eyes opened and he sighed loudly to express his annoyance, quickly turning to meet whoever woke him up to give them a piece of his—

“M-Master?” he croaked tiredly, and also with regret, because he would never want to intentionally disrespect Grimm. Immediately, a disheveled Brumm sat up and rubbed his eyes; he bowed his head and apologized for his insolence, though his feelings were replaced by embarrassment and warmness because how long was Grimm watching him sleep? And did he  _ have to _ be so close to him?

He backed off and smiled, “Good afternoon.”

“Afternoon?!”

“No silly, I lied,” he said, “it is still very much morning. Why don’t you go out and try and find a map of this land? That’s my task for you today.”

Brumm nodded and stood up, already readying himself to do what was requested of him. “It’s not a no from me, Master, but what is everyone else doing right now?”

After the question, the sound of something shattering was heard, and Grimm pressed his mouth together and indicated that  _ that _ was what everyone else was doing. Following this, Pea’s squeaky voice shouted “so close!” and Sincere’s distinguishable clapping filled the air.

“Umm…” Brumm tried to guess.

“Let me try this time!” yelled Mar.   
“No no no, you had your chance, now it’s my time to shine,” Pea retorted.

“I want in next,” Sincere added.

Grimm and Brumm went out to the tent’s main area and there were  _ a ton _ of pieces of broken ceramic and glass on the floor, it looked like a booby trap. Behind the trio, there was an entire collection of bottles obtained from an unknown location, and it only took another second for Brumm’s question about what they were being used for to be answered.

Pea grabbed a bottle and with great concentration, flung it upwards and waited for it to land right-side up, though the ceramic bottle landed on the side and cracked, causing Pea to groan in frustration. “I thought it’d land this time!”

“Is this their idea of fun? Making a mess?” mumbled Brumm. “Master, you can count on me to clean this up.”

“No need my dear musician, I have it all under control.” 

Said musician smiled contentedly.  _ “My dear musician…” _

“My Troupe,” announced Grimm firmly, “how about we stop this—”

No good though, because Sincere flung the bottle without even having heard Grimm, being too absorbed by the game. It shattered, and Mar grabbed another bottle and threw it up.

Grimm cleared his throat and spoke more loudly, “MY TROUPE, you all must stop—”

His order fell on deaf ears, as the trio probably thought he could wait a little, and that the bottle throwing game was ultimately more interesting. Mar’s bottle didn’t break, and it  _ nearly  _ landed right side up, but spun around and fell down. 

“Aghh!” they all exclaimed excitedly. 

Brumm shook his head,  _ “Mmm, this can’t be too good. I wonder where Fleur is, I don’t see her participating in this clownery…” _

“Did you all see that?!” Mar beamed. “Let me have another go at it!”

“Ah ah ah, one try each,” Sincere responded. 

“But I am on the cusp of victory, I can feel it!”

Sincere waved him off and grabbed the object, “Yes well, it’s my turn! Now feast your eyes on—”

“JUST what are you doing? It’s MY turn now!” Pea said while hopping up and trying to take the bottle from her enormous companion.

“You shouldn’t even get a turn, the bottle is almost your size,” the Scorpion said frankly. “You literally need two hands to—”

Grimm was  _ seething _ , internally at first, but now his eyes were glowing a fiery scarlet red and there was smoke coming from his clenched hands. Brumm chuckled nervously and went to diffuse the situation, but Grimm stopped him, and the hotness of his hand caught the musician off guard.

“The quiet and meek Scorpion is talking back?” Mar gibed, “that’s really surprising—”

“Oh be quiet you instigative little morsel, before I break those pretty wings of yours in half like a twig,” he said impatiently. “Wrongly said, me being meek—”

This was probably the first argument the members had in a while, though the reasonable Divine and Fleur were always there to break it up before Grimm would. But Divine was in her tent unbothered and Fleur was off somewhere as well, leaving it up to two unlikely candidates. No one knew what was going on in Grimm’s head right now, but from the looks of it, it wasn’t anything good. Brumm really wanted to say something, but didn’t want to go against his Master, so he just watched and waited for his companions to get what they deserved; the thought almost made him laugh out loud in satisfaction.

“Wrong? Let me make this clear, you barely ever say a word to us in our time traveling, you just interject nonsense ever so often, and you always want to fight, all brawns and no brain—” the butterfly said while darting his eyes away.

“Hey hey now—” Pea chirped. 

Venom leaked from Sincere’s white tail, which was a  _ very _ clear indication that he was either angry, extremely annoyed, or preparing to engage in combat. In the blink of an eye, the ex-mercenary whipped his tail around with the deadly stinger pointed at Mar, who flinched a little but tried not to let it phase him. Pea gasped, as did Brumm, but Grimm watched with dark eyes as the whole thing unfolded.

“I take your insult to my former self gravely, so if you would like to speak another word, I more than welcome you to do so,” he said coldly. “Why do you avert your gaze? Look me in the eyes since you want to talk so crazily—”

_ “All this started over a bottle…”  _ Brumm thought wryly.

Dramatically, Mar sized Sincere up, though he was shorter and lankier, and gave him a wide eyed stare. “See?! I’m looking at you in the eyes, so do your worst you brute—”

“You little ugly insect—” 

Grimm let out a strident and piercing scream, mouth wide open, revealing the red color inside; it was like hearing the announcement of someone’s death, because everyone quieted, except Divine. She perked up when she heard her master’s scream, and laughed before leaving her tent to see who had ticked him off enough for that to happen. Poking her head through, Divine found broken pieces of glass and ceramic, a stunned Brumm, Sincere and Mar shocked with mouths wide open, and Pea nearly fainted from how ear-splitting Grimm’s scream was. One of the torches fell from the ceiling and broke, and Brumm sneezed loudly, stepping on the fire on the floor afterwards to put it out. 

“Well good morning, everyone!” Divine broadcasted sunnily.

Elsewhere, in Dirtmouth’s pastry shop, Fleur was tying an ill-fitting apron around her waist, though she heard Grimm’s scream even from there, but the elder himself did not hear it. She acknowledged it as a telepathy of sorts, given that they were all connected. Right when the sun rose, the ladybug left the tent to see if the old bug’s store was open, and to her surprise, it was. Relieved, she went inside and wasted no time, asking if he could teach her a thing or two about baking, and he readily agreed. The apron Fleur was wearing actually belonged to the bug’s late wife, and he explained that to her in case it made her uncomfortable, but she insisted that it wasn’t a big deal. 

“I want the full experience!” she said without a bit of reluctance. “It’s okay really, just hand it to me, I’ll take good care of it.”

Aside from the apron, Fleur didn’t have too many possessions; she did carry a bottle containing rancid perfume. Every time she scanned it, trying to remember why perfume so old was in her bag, her mind always drew a blank.

\----------

Without asking further questions and without pausing unless his father or mother spoke, Hollow detailed the rest of what happened at Deepnest, leaving out the entire bit with Ghost. He instead said that he was keeping the workers' safety as his priority, and that the Spiders were keen on killing the captured ones if they didn’t leave. The question now was what to do next.

“Constructing the stagway long ago was no easy feat, but even so, we managed to hold through and do what needed to be done, I expect the same for this operation, even if we have to resort to more...lethal measures,” said the King. “The Spiders and their new companions, Weavers, populations are slight, this means we have to take advantage of their rest times, those likely being daytime for most Spiders and perhaps even Weavers, if they have adapted to the environment of their comrades. It is all a gamble, but one I am confident will be in our favor, except, they know where to expect us, so we need to look a little differently.”

The White Lady snickered, “I hope the workers do not begrudge these tasks.”

_ “Well can you blame them if they do?” _

That’s what Hollow wanted to say, at least, but never in a million years would he state it outright. He looked over to Ghost, who was just doing what they had to do, and listening in, though they let their gaze wander at one point.

Hollow wondered what they thought about all this, although he figured that it was just wishful thinking that they both share the same thoughts regarding the situation. The Prince looked over to Monarch, and they appeared either bored or sad, he couldn’t tell. No surprise there though, because that was usually Monarch’s disposition around most matters of the family and the kingdom; Hollow felt kind of bad for him. Almost stereotypically, Monarch was the oddity of the bunch, the one least favored as the middle child, and that was likely a result of him covertly trying to pursue his own truth since way back when. Improving Hallownest, becoming a Great Knight, being the son of a king, being the brother of the future ruler, none of that really served to drive him in a direction that was beneficial for his family, but Monarch tried not to let the opposition get to him, though it was very,  _ very  _ hard sometimes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My references to modern things need to be stopped.  
> —  
> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	21. Uncle and Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think things in the fic are gonna start moving faster, in that stuff happens more progressively. Thanks for reading!  
> Tfw you tell your bestie you write video game fanfiction and they’re super supportive >>.

Deep inside the heavenly Colosseum of Fools were two creatures, bound not by blood, but by a nice and hearty relationship. They go way back. 

“Oh ho ho! Tis’ very exciting, Gwendolyn, no?”

“Please Uncle, we’ve been over this a hundred million times, just Gwen.”

Their lodging was actually a hut, in spite of their statuses, though it was the fanciest hut Lord Fool had ever laid his menacing eyes on. 

“Wild child!” exclaimed Lord Fool, “but my brother, he really liked your name—”

Gwendolyn sighed, “It’s okay, a little too long. But what is this event I keep hearing about that you would take immense delight in inviting the King to?”

Lord Fool sat down at a table and fixed himself a cup of water, feeling a tad sore from sitting atop his throne at the Colosseum of Fools all night. It’s what he always did, when he wasn’t called to serve in battle; being an aristocrat and a “warrior of Hallownest'' were two lucrative things in terms of status. He was extremely happy the day he was granted the Pale King’s sanction to oversee the colosseum. Lord Fool says he strove for it in part for Boss, a bug whom he called his brother. Biologically, he was likely not his brother, but they were close enough for it to seem that way. Boss was a bug who earned the respect of the King through certain means, and as such, he was able to ascend through the social hierarchy. He and Lord Fool grew close because of their similar personalities, especially with the desire for glory and strength. They met in the City of Tears, and both frequented the Colosseum of Fools for good times. When Lord Fool asked Boss what he wanted to become of his daughter, they simply said they’d like for her to rise through the ranks and become a powerful, veteran warrior, like he was. If she didn’t want to become a fighter, then that's fine too. What he didn’t say was that, ideally, he’d also like her to go out and travel to different lands.

“The Festival is nigh, and to you, it might not mean a lot—”

“I am an only child, so no, not really,” Gwendolyn deadpanned. She laughed when Lord Fool looked visibly annoyed at her bad habit of interruption. “My apologies, continue.”

“But the youngest children always come here to participate as warriors, for wealth and for glory. You understand the sentiment, yes?”

She took a drink of his water and he gasped, “Mm, not cold enough. But that event, it happens every year, what is going to be different this time?”

“The privacy of it. I want to invite His Majesty to a private event, where his youngest child will be the famed warrior of a lifetime. They’re basically a knight, so this—”

“But I heard they were still in training?” 

“Gwendol—”

“Gwen!” she interjected loudly.

Together, Gwen and Lord Fool, whose actual name was Jude, lived in the City of Tears, though they also had their special place behind the colosseum. Adorned with few decorations, lots of greens, and a King’s Idol that said “Fool’s praise be for thy King, the Wyrm”, it was one of the apples of Lord Fool’s eye.

“What I was going to say was that this event of mine could serve as their rite of passage into knighthood, officially I guess, but only if His Majesty deems it appropriate,” continued Lord Fool, standing up to water his precious potted plants. In spite of his appearance, he was actually quite forbearing and also had a green thumb. “What do you think about my idea?”

“Sounds nice, I wonder if they’re strong, I wonder how they look...how do they look?”

“I don’t even know! I mean, I believe I’ve seen Prince Hollow, a rather dreamy fellow, very tall—”

Lord Fool’s niece went over to study his plants, and she smiled, because they looked very happy. They weren’t typical plants, in that Lord Fool obtained them from Greenpath, and they didn’t need much to grow. But whatever the warrior was doing to enable them to keep thriving was working.

“How tall? Taller than you?” she questioned with interest. 

“We might very well be the same height, Gwendol—”

“I firmly believe you’re just provoking me at this point,” she chuckled. “But what about the King? How does he look? You’ve seen him, yes?”

“Only once and my Radiance,” he said breathily, growing completely solemn. “My child, with words, this being, simply cannot be described, and shall not be, for it would be too disrespectful, and I’d need to be slain for tarnishing his name and mere presence with the filthy words that’d erupt from my tongue.”

“...I see,” Gwen quietly responded. “Shall I ever get to lay eyes on him?” she questioned while seizing the King’s Idol. Running her long claws across the object, the brightness of it enamored her for the moment, and it felt weird to notice just how much power a statue could have. Just what kind of life did the King of Hallownest live? And the Queen? But what about their children, and the youngest? For some reason, the idea of them intrigued Gwen the most.

“Perhaps, Miss God Tamer,” Lord Fool said slyly, and she smiled.

“Papa always called me that, for odd reasons, simply because beasts have an affinity for me. Do you consider it a talent of sorts? A gift? I think I might just be part beast.” 

“Come give me a hug, Gwen, no, I shall give you one,” insisted Lord Fool, and so he did, and she wasn’t complaining. “You need a hug, I can tell when you miss your father, you know—”

“No you can’t,” she said simply, but also amused.

“Eh?”

“I miss him everyday. I’d need a hug everyday. Is it really okay to hug someone...everyday?” Gwen’s voice trailed off. Lord Fool didn’t say anything, because he knew she wanted to keep on talking. “Wouldn’t it be such a bad thing to get used to hugs? I mean, they should be reserved for special moments, because they’re this special little action done when you care about someone, deeply, and I think that’s manifested through the warmth the receiver feels. And also, once you get used to those hugs, what happens when you stop feeling them all of a sudden? Ah, but it’s a double edged sword, because having not received enough hugs, you’d immediately feel regret once a creature is gone and…”

The Colosseum was quiet that day, and so was the atmosphere, which heavily relied on the former to stay lively. She didn’t finish her sentence, because she knew she was rambling, but Gwen just stayed in her Uncle’s arms for a while, and for a few moments, pretended like it was Boss who was hugging her instead. No harm was meant by that, and Lord Fool was content that she trusted him enough for that to even be a possibility. 

\--

_ “And wish you had spent a little less time talking, and more time hugging.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember Boss from the Spirits Glade in the Resting Grounds? That’s who I mean.  
> —  
> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	22. Back When

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meager glimpse into the just formed Grimm Troupe, way back when.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I followed my heart and I also just finished reading Enemy of the People, so here’s playwright format for this small chapter. I hope everyone is doing good in these trying times.

* * *

_ Some long time ago. Grimm and Brumm sit in front of a cave. The musician sits on a stump with one leg over the other, while the former hangs from a tree, like a bat. The Troupe’s tents are in sight, as are the Grimmsteeds, but no members. _

Grimm: (excitedly.) Your playing gets better every time I hear it!

Brumm: (playing his accordion) No need to be so generous, master.—(his voice quavers) I always try my best though. 

Grimm: Yes—(he hums in agreement)—I know you do. 

_ Grimm continues watching Brumm intensely, and Brumm’s face flushes; he continues playing as best as he can. Grimm was listening, after all.  _

Brumm: Mm, where did Divine go? 

Grimm: She said she saw some trinkets in town, and supposedly couldn’t help herself. 

Brumm: Ah. (he continues playing, this time, a little more loudly). 

Grimm: I don’t mind, we get to spend time together.

_ The Troupe Master drops down effortlessly, the upturned end of his cloak falling with him. His landing was soft, and he approached the musician with quick and light steps. _

Grimm: (with great enthusiasm) Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about playing? I am a fast learner. 

Brumm: R-really?—(spluttering)—I didn’t think you’d uh, like instruments.

_ The Troupe Master chuckles genuinely, and Brumm can’t help but chuckle too.  _

Grimm: Nonsense! How could I dislike something I have never touched. (he pauses for a moment). And your playing is enough to make me like them. 

Brumm: W-well it is not that you dislike them, but it is just that you don’t like them, because you have never touched them?

Grimm: (nods)—Scooch over. 

_ Grimm smushes himself next to the musician on the mossy stump that he was sitting on. It had just rained, and the air smelled deliciously like petrichor. The wood underneath the duo was saturated with water, and felt soft and sticky. They were surrounded by various willows--one in particular was carved into by Divine. It said ‘The Troupe’. Grimm asks Brumm for the accordion, and he hands it over without hesitation. _

Grimm: (plays lousily). How’d I do?

Brumm: Master, you are holding it wrong.

Grimm: Oh.


	23. Chapter 23

Strong, wealthy, skilled, and jaunty were just a few words to describe the creatures present in the room where the meeting took place. Appropriately enough, it was wide, had no windows, and also had a large door. There was a map of Hallownest hung up on the wall, a very elaborate one, and there was a lovely statue of the Radiance standing erect at the far end of the room. She was made of bronze, and could have been life size.

In came four of the Great Knights of Hallownest; they were a gallant and glorious bunch, but with their own flaws and personalities. Take Ze’mer for example, who was usually late to important things, much to her comrades dismay.

“Where is that Grey Mourner?” said Dryya with irritation to no one in particular. Grey Mourner was a nickname Hegemol and Isma came up with after seeing Ze’mer’s sensitivity towards little life forms, like flowers. The day she stepped on one, Hegemol and Isma were super stunned at her sniffing because yikes, was she crying?

_ “It was just so ethereal, I had to weep.” _

“Admiring the flowers in the courtyard?” Hegemol replied slowly and with hand gestures.

Dryya rolled her eyes, “It is absolutely not the time for that, what is His Majesty going to say if he appears? What is Her Highness—”

At a moment’s notice, Ze’mer came in, and she looked content with herself, but Dryya stormed towards her and grabbed her hand, pulling Ze’mer towards the rest of them. 

“And where have you been?” she questioned dissatisfied. “Why are you late?”

All Knights had eyes on their comrade, with Ogrim appearing to be slightly frightened because of Dryya’s sudden fierceness, but that was who she was. Ze’mer being the youngest and Dryya being the oldest also didn’t help; reprimanding her wasn’t something the eldest was really supposed to be doing.

“I was in the courtyard, staring at flowers,” came her honeyed voice, though not to please, because the sound of Ze’mer’s voice was naturally pleasing.

Only Hegemol noticed the dainty flower in her hands, but Ze’mer tucked it away once she saw him look at it. She looked at Dryya in the eyes and repeated herself, but Dryya wasn’t buying it. 

“Something’s been askew with you lately,” said Dryya. “You act so weird, I do not know what it is, but I’m going to find out—” 

The sound of the doors opening alarmed everyone, and they hushed, getting ready to show reverence should it be the King. It was actually the Seer.

_ “Oh, the clairvoyant?” _ Isma thought with surprise. They bowed heads at each other in respect, and all of the Great Knights welcomed her.

“Did I interrupt your inquiries and promises?” the Seer said unassumingly. Dryya shot Ze’mer a knowing look as if saying “this discussion isn’t over”.

“You can keep talking, I won’t be nosy, and don’t worry, I can’t read minds.” She said the last part with a chuckle.

“That’s alright, this is hardly the place to have a quarrel anyways. How have you fared, Good Seer?” asked Dryya sincerely.

“Hopefully this goes by fast, no?” Hegemol chimed in affirmingly.

“Mhm! I’ve been quite good, up to nothing but my usual,” the Seer said quietly. As she looked at the Radiance, she spoke, “it is a life of daily prayer and question for me, sometimes a bug or two will seek my counsel, for important or odd reasons. Why, just the other day, one asked where they might locate a good rancid egg.”

Everyone laughed. “And what did you say?” Isma wondered.

“I didn’t tell her, but isn’t my situation kind of funny? To help one as fair and divine as our King, only to have the common bugs seek me out for their silly inquiries.”

Ogrim pulled a face, “That is quite funny…”

After a moment’s pause, the doors opened yet again, and the atmosphere was quick to change, but it wasn’t because of the King or Queen or even their children. It was because Xero stepped inside; his appearance meant that the Pale King would be arriving shortly, and it made everyone feel a little bit nervous.

“Good day,” all the Great Knights told Xero in unison, and he did the same.

But the Seer was more hushed, only greeting him when he looked her way. And then, they made eye contact, and it was if they were peering into each other’s minds. When the doors opened again, Hollow, Monarch and Ghost arrived, and everyone took it upon themselves to kneel. They held their positions, and the White Lady arrived, as did the Pale King, who was last but most certainly not least.

And everyone assembled themselves around the grand table that was in the room’s center, not bothering to continue their small talk until the entire meeting was over.

“Before we begin, I would like to take a quick moment to pay our respects to the one who watches over us all, common and Higher alike, our Light Goddess, the Radiance,” the Pale King said seriously, but the most serious of them all was the Seer herself. 

So for a good two minutes, everyone stared at the statue with heads bowed, letting their thoughts mingle with their prayers. It was a nice and unifying moment.

During those two minutes, Ze’mer let her gaze wander around, and her eyes ranged from the statue, to the Queen, and the King. It was so odd to see even their ruler being like that, and she had to restrain herself from studying him even more, lest she be caught.

Se looked to her left, and Monarch was staring at her; she smiled in response, knowing that her secret was safe with him. If there was anyone who wouldn’t really care about what she was doing during prayers, it would be Monarch. Great minds think alike.

And then Ze’mer looked at Ghost, who was also being extremely reverent and concentrating hard.

_ “When did they get so tall?” _ she pondered.  _ “They used to be only an eighth of my height.”  _

The thought made her chuckle, but she wished she hadn’t, because Dryya pinched her, and she pinched her very hard.

When everyone heard the Pale King’s voice, they knew it was over.

“Very well then,” he said, “shall we begin?”

\----------

“Ugh, my aching back,” uttered two bugs simultaneously, both of whom were in completely different places in Hallownest. One of them was Myla, who was already tired from the morning’s mining at Crystal Peak, and the other was Sly. Ever since he permanently stepped down as a Nailsage, and from under the direct eye of the Pale King, things haven’t been the same. They were more peaceful, but definitely not the same. Before, Sly was able to use both of his legs, and now he could only walk on one, because he only had one. And before, he’d get visits from the three nail-wielding brothers, Oro, Mato, and Sheo, but now, only Mato visited him every week. The artistic Sheo came too, but only once in a blue moon, but still, it was better than what Oro gave him—which was nothing. 

_ “Why, I dare that ungrateful little oaf to step through my crummy little shop, I dare him,” Sly said to Mato the other day, when the latter couldn’t make it to train Ghost. “I feed him, train him, clothe him and give him a nail, and he ups and vanishes, the nerve! The nerve indeed.” _

_ “Yes Master, he is an ungrateful little oaf,” Mato said while dusting all of Sly’s random items; it was the little bug who ran the small, run-down shop called Miscellaneous. Agreeing with the shopkeeper became like a trained response, but Mato loved his master, and empathized with him too much not to agree with him.  _

_ “Enough about him though, or I might really get angry, tell me about your pupil, how are they doing?” Sly asked with genuine wonder.  _

_ “They’re fine, they’re doing their best, I always assure them that they’re doing their best…” _

_ At that moment, a customer came into the shop, which was signaled by the chiming of a bell, and they were looking around to see what Sly had. They were clearly an outsider, as most residents of Dirtmouth knew what they wanted right from the get go.  _

_ “So small in here, can’t you rebuild and make it any bigger?” he announced grumpily, grabbing the local newspaper, which had a smudge of blue paint on it.  _

_ “My apologies, I work with all the geo I can,” Sly replied firmly. When the semi-tall stranger looked at him again, Sly nodded reassuringly. “I really do.”  _

_ Mato was giving the stranger the evil eye, but he didn’t bother interjecting into the conversation, because unless the outsider wanted a physical dispute, there was no problem.  _

_ “Well I can give you more geo, if you let me run this shop!” they boldly announced, resting their hands on their hips.  _

_ “Have you lost your sanity?” replied a baffled Sly. “Why in Hallownest’s name would I allow that?” _

_ The stranger nodded in agreement, and he gave Mato the once over, almost sizing him up if anything. He stuck out his chest just a little more noticeably, and this made Mato laugh inwardly.  _

_ “Co-own?” he asked. “I am Zote—Grey Prince Zote, and I hail from a distant land, a land that is in no need for its Prince right now, but nevertheless will surely need me eventually. I possess quite a bit of...the necessities if you know what I mean. Give me this shop, and you can have it all. This place will be my new kingdom, my dominion, and I shall be its sovereign… _ ”

_ “Master? What shall you do about him?” asked Mato amusedly.  _

_ Sly squinted to get a better look at Zote, and he could hardly make him out; the shopkeeper’s vision had been gradually deteriorating for a while now. _

_ “Oh he rambles a lot, doesn’t he? You know, I do not believe he’s bluffing about being a prince, but as for his profits…” said Sly. _

_ “This is my master’s establishment, he earns very little, but proudly so, outsider,” Mato asserted kindly. “As such, it is off-limits, and you’re better off looking for lodging elsewhere if you need one.” _

_ Grey Prince Zote didn’t take too kindly to Mato’s statement, and he pulled out a blade, one that was surprisingly refined, and he pointed it at Sly. “Shall he battle me for it, then? He has an aura of strength—it cannot hide from me! What do you say?” _

_ “What do I say? I say to battle my former pupil, Nailmaster Mato, because I am in no condition to be fighting anyone, just look at me!” he exclaimed, pointing to his eyes and missing leg. “Go on, you asked me what I say, so do battle,” Sly said smugly. “If you dare.” _

_ “Are you ready?” said Mato, winking at Zote and unsheathing his enormous nail. “Or would you like to have a cup of tea beforehand? I can wait...I hate rushing.” _

_ “Hmm, I’ll have tea,” said Zote.  _

_ Sly went to prepare some, and Mato turned around for a split second. Zote, being a self-perceived opportunist, tried to catch him off guard, but Mato felt the air change, and he parried it. _

_ “...You-you interrupted the part where I was going to tell you to never let your guard down,” the Grey Prince said dumbly. He cleared his throat, “I see.” _

_ “Between you and me, I am light years ahead of you simply in wits, some years in skill,” said Mato bluntly. “For that, you do not have the honor of battling me, Zote.” _

_ “It’s Grey Prince Zote to you!” _

_ “Whatever,” said Mato.  _

“I miss you, Mato, already, but you come every week or so...I miss Sheo too, more than you,” Sly said quietly behind the counter. “Yes, I miss both of you, but I miss Oro the most, because he never comes.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s theme: “Sea of Clouds” by Tsunenori. 
> 
> Just a refresher generally in the context of Ghost having their quill + something to write on, bold text is what they wrote.

“Tea anyone?” said Isma to her comrades. “That was a nice, surprisingly not so long gathering, and now I want to enjoy a refreshment of some kind.” 

“I’ll have greenherb’s tea,” Hegemol told a servant nearby. “With um, just a little bit of extra sweetener than would normally be utilized.”

“No one else? Hmph, suit yourselves. I want uh, what’s that one called? It has a strong aftertaste…” Isma said thoughtfully. 

“If I may?” said the servant.

“Yes?” the female Knight replied.

Dryya was sitting down, and she tried to sit down next to Ze’mer, but the latter didn’t let her, because she didn’t want to be lectured. Her mind was in a more lovely place, as proven by the rosy coating on her face. 

“I believe what you’re looking for is spicy almond tea.”

“Oh yes, that’s it! Bring me one, and bring one for lovely little Ogrim as well,” said Isma cheerily. She smiled when he displayed bashfulness, and smiled some more when he didn’t know what to say.

“Hush you, I think you’re going to enjoy it, I really like it—it’s so unique! Trust me,” sang the female bug. 

“...You didn’t have to go through all that trouble of asking for it,” said Ogrim. “But I will drink it merrily—down to every last drop—and I’ll drink that too! Ahaha!”

Some peaceful silence followed the conversations, and everyone was either resting their head on the table, or fiddling with their weapon. Tea was soon brought in, nice and hot, and Ogrim burned his mouth in an attempt to chug it. Maybe he forgot it was hot, or maybe it was because Isma was around; she giggled. 

The teacups were reminiscent of the White Palace, with their solid white, ceramic body and saucer. Perhaps the most stand out feature was its handle, which was a silver color, and kind of glittery too upon closer inspection. It was almost like a tulip, and had walls which were ever so slightly thick, along with a tiny, curved lip. 

“I think someone is coming in,” said Ze’mer, “oh look, the door…” 

Prince Hollow came through the door, and without a moment’s delay, everyone bowed. 

“Hello everyone, I thought I'd say hello, so hello…” he expressed clumsily. 

“THAT’S what brings our dear Prince here?” Isma questioned. “Well we should feel honored then, extremely honored. Isn’t that right...Dryya?”

“Hm? Oh yes have a seat Hollow—I mean Prince Hollow! Forgive me…”

Without being asked, she pulled out a seat for him. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“What’s done is done, please have a seat,” Dryya responded. “Let us have small talk.”

What started out as an easy conversation between Hollow, Isma, and Dryya turned into a one on one between Hollow and Dryya. Isma, not content with being a third wheel, left them to chat.

Ze’mer looked sleepy, and she lazily watched them converse from across the table, though Hegemol rescued her from her boredom.

“Are you excited for the festival? I know I am, who knows what will happen this year,” said Dryya. “Maybe Prince Monarch will become one of us, you know His Majesty has it out for him to be a Great Knight. He sees his potential. Hmm…a few festivals ago was it? That’s when Ze’mer was appointed to be one of us.”

Hollow doubted that Ze’mer’s appointment was “a few festivals ago”, and betted that it was actually  _ many,  _ many festivals ago. “I’m pretty sure that was a long time ago, Dryya. Your memory is getting hazy, probably because you grow old, methinks.” 

She just smiled.

Ze’mer was being ruthlessly questioned due to the fact that the flower from earlier fell out of her grasp. Ogrim, Hegemol, and Isma asked where she got it, and if she was hiding it, and why. The Grey Mourner wanted to hide. 

“Dryya?” Hollow said worriedly. “You've grown quiet.”

“Sorry, I spaced out—I’m just thinking.”

“About?” he said with care. 

“I do not want to speak out of line…” she mumbled. 

He shook his head, “No, it is okay, you’re talking to me. Did you want to say something? Did you want to ask a question?”

Nervously, she folded her hands and pointed at his neck with one finger. “You have some marks, they look like bruises, what happened there?”

He gave no response.

“More importantly, are you alright?”

That was more complicated.

“I am going to be alright, yes. This was...an accident. It will not happen again, I can assure you,” Hollow said convincingly. “I appreciate your concern, I do. Thank you.”

“...It’s no—it-it is my pleasure.” 

Hopefully no one noticed her fumbling for words. Dryya could be fierce, but when it was most inconvenient for her, she wasn’t. 

“Do you, um, want to talk about it? I’ll listen wordlessly. Unless you would rather keep it private, that’s quite alright too. I’ll respect your decision, Your Highness. 

Confidentiality was something that obviously existed among everyone who frequented the White Palace. But Hollow found little credence in the ability to listen wordlessly if he told her that the marks were a consequence of defying her dear Pale King. He didn’t feel like he could trust her right now, or maybe ever; it made him kind of sad. When he really thought about it, there were actually very few creatures he could truly confide in. There were his siblings, and the Snail Shaman, and Quirrel, but keeping secrets with his siblings felt burdensome at times. 

Were they burdensome?

His mind ran circles and he told himself: obviously not. He wanted to apologize to them for even thinking that way. 

“You are too kind, but I’m fine,” was all Hollow could muster up.   
“You’re fine?”   
“Yes.”

“Okay Your Highness,” Dryya said, convinced, but with disappointment towards something.

“Dryya, can you do me an ounce of a favor?” said the Prince solemnly. Her face perked up in attentiveness. 

“Just call me Hollow, drop the formalities—I beseech you. What do you think of my favor? Doable?”

“Oh goodness, that is your favor?”

Prince Hollow’s face lit up. 

“Do you believe that to be appropriate?” the Knight doubted. Hollow didn’t attempt to masquerade his disappointment. 

Upon seeing her Prince’s facial expression, Dryya grew flustered. “My deepest apologies Your Highness, you see it’s because, um—”

Hegemol, Ogrim, Isma, and Ze’mer interrupted the two with ill-timing.

“What are you two chatting about, if we may ask?” inquired Hegemol. “Looks intense.”

By now it was past 12 pm, and things inside the palace were moving more slowly. Hallownest life was relatively slow paced though, but everyone felt it more today. 

The sound of chair legs against the floor alerted everyone to the Prince’s leave, and he said that he’d see them around. 

“Actually, I should get going—and never mind Dryya, it’s alright. Let’s converse again soon?”

“Yes, of course, whenever you desire, Your Highness.”

\-----

**“If I could give a name to a flower, an informal name, not a scientific one, it would be the solitude flower. Doesn’t that sound beautiful, yet lonesome, and thus, captivating?”**

Ghost took some time for themselves in the White Palace’s courtyard; originally, there were no flowers or plants, but overtime, seeds and earth met under the right conditions and enabled lovely little organisms to flourish (courtesy of the White Lady). Purple, pink, blue, and maroon seeped out of green stems and onto the brown land. Actually, if it weren’t for the multitude of flowers and the White Palace, the basin that they were situated in would be an eyesore.

Quill, book, and no one else but themselves, Ghost decided to take a few moments and journal; it was usually what they did, at least once a week. A journal was the best companion a creature could have, because the words stayed between you and the book. You could say things that maybe you couldn’t have said in a real life exchange, and make up scenarios, too. According to Mato, it was also a good way to sort out your priorities.

_ Priorities…. _

**“What are my priorities?”** Ghost scribbled softly.

“ **Why are they my pri-”**

“Ghost?” 

Instinctively, Ghost shut their book and stopped whatever they were doing to stand up and give their full attention to their father.

Even though they always saw each other, and even though Ghost was their child, the Pale King’s presence always struck them; as they once wrote,  _ “In spite of everything, Father is uncannily omnipotent.” _

“What are you doing?” he asked.

It wasn’t the first time the King tried to strike up a conversation with Ghost, though every time he did, it left Ghost feeling satisfied, yet disappointed. They didn’t bother pinpointing the source. 

The colorful courtyard only enhanced the King and Ghost’s intrinsic divinity. Meeting eye to eye, with self assured postures that bore resemblance, no one let themselves go lax. 

Finally, Ghost answered their father’s question by picking up their journal and tugging the quill.

“You are writing? About what?”

They gestured to the flowers, but didn’t try to express much after that. This led to a pause in the conversation, which was filled by the distant voices of guards, and the barely-there susurrus of flowers. Though most bugs wouldn’t hesitate at the chance of leaving an awkward conversation, Ghost always felt inclined to stay and finish a conversation with the King. Their father brushed past them, and they sat down on the stone bench that lay facing the plants. There was enough room for two, but Ghost didn’t think to sit themselves next to the Pale King—until he told them to.

“So you’re writing about the flowers...how do the flowers serve you?”

The young knight blinked because of the King’s question; they didn’t know if there was a valid answer to it. 

**“They are nice to look at because of their color. When I look at the flowers, especially the bright ones, I feel happy. I believe what we see in the world around us plays an important role in our ways of thinking, which can enable many of our actions. All around, they give life, some kind of meaning.”**

“Some kind of meaning, you say? So what would you do if the flowers from this courtyard began wilting?” 

**“I would try and bring them back to life.”**

After reading their answer, the King nodded in satisfaction. “How very noble of you.” 

What made Ghost feel happy and secure in that moment was feeling the Pale King’s warmth, because they sat close together. 

“And what if the flowers died? What would you do then?”

The answer was obvious enough, because Ghost couldn’t possibly bring back dead plants to life.

**“I’d grow new ones.”**

Up above, a nosy servant watched the King and Ghost’s exchange. Moments later, the mighty ruler put his arm around Ghost and brought them closer. That’s when the servant decided to go back to whatever it was they were supposed to be doing.

Now when the King spoke, his voice was almost a whisper, and he asked Ghost what they would do if the flowers disappeared. He watched his child write something down, but didn’t immediately react after seeing what they wrote. 

“If you never gave up I am sure you would find where they went off to,” he said without ornament. “By the way, I have been meaning to give this to you, I made the decision that it is best not to delay these kinds of things. Take it.”

Lo and behold, it was a Shaman Stone, and it glinted as the King handed it to Ghost, who took it graciously. Their father allowed them to study it for a few seconds before they spoke, and he again had Ghost’s undivided attention.

“I was to give this to you the other day, when you had your little training session in the caves, do you recall? But that went rather unceremoniously. In any case, this is a powerful object known as a charm. This charm in particular is known as the Shaman Stone, and it will aid your use of soul and make your spells stronger. Do not lose it. Understood?”

Ghost understood fully, and they made sure their father knew that. 

For just another few minutes, the King and his child sat together; it was unknown where the King’s mind drifted off to. 

Recalling the Deepnest incident from earlier, Ghost felt guilt wash over them, because they felt it to be true that they had been reckless, and that they should have fought more, and that they secretly disobeyed the King, in more ways than one.

The way things were right now, with only the worries of before, and the calm, and the appeased King. 

_ “It is better this way.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the recent Silksong news has me really excited.

“Your Majesty!” announced a sentry, who flew down and wasted no time in genuflecting. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty, I bring this priority mail from the servant of the Warrior Jude, also known as Lord Fool.”

The sentry handed the King the sealed letter, and it had Lord Fool’s own emblem on it, which looked like a suit of armor. Ghost watched the King take the document and sent them off, and he bid his child goodbye before telling them that they had matters to attend to.

“Always read your mail the first chance you get, Ghost. But you know that already, I am absolutely positive you do,” said the King, silver cloak scintillating as he finally walked away, somewhat hurriedly. Distantly, Ghost heard their father fall into an intense coughing fit.

“Your Highness? You have a letter.”

Letter? For who? For Ghost? They were surprised, but took the mail graciously from the servant who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. It seemed like mail was just falling from the sky, but Ghost found this odd. Normal mail that wasn’t of official business had to go through certain channels to even get to the White Palace.

“Actually Your Highness, I believe this letter is from the Shaman of the Crossroads, and it’s specifically for you. Because he is familiar and acquaintances with our dear King, he was able to get this through to you rather quickly. Happy reading, Your Highness.”

Ghost tore through the envelope rather messily, and to their surprise, a small, silver chain fell out and landed on the ground. They had plans of picking it up, but only after reading the letter’s contents. 

“I never noticed, but Their Highness is quite the looker aren’t they,” said Pen as he looked out the window; he and Dris should have been doing other things, but they decided to lounge around a bit because no one was around.

“Not as much of a looker as Prince Hollow. They are not as tall, nor is their face as elongated, and their horns are not as refined…” Dris said dreamily.

Pen rolled his eyes and continued to spy on them. “Yes well, Ghost used to be very tiny and stubby, like a pesky ant almost! You didn’t hear that from me, haha. But now look at them, almost matching in our King’s radiance. Do you think they will grow taller than Prince Hollow?”

Dris doubted that, but they joked that Ghost would grow taller than the King and Monarch.

A glint of mischievousness in Pen’s eye got Dris’s attention, and the former leaned closer to his companion and asked something caustic.

“Dear Dris, who do you think is the most...unsightly out of the three?”

“What a savage question,” Dris replied gruffly. “I do not want to answer that--”

“Oh, come on! Surely one of their aesthetics is not as pleasant on your eyes than the other two!”

To that, Dris shook his head and decided to go back to work. “You are too playful to be in this court, but you are a good worker. Beauty isn’t everything, you know--”

The conversation between the servants did not fall on deaf ears, and the eavesdropper also wanted to know the answer to Pen’s inquiry.

“Hush Dris I know that, I am just having fun! Fun is so hard to come across in this grand and royal residence, no?” the bug said while shrugging. “Is it our dear Prince Monarch? They are not as refined in elegance as Hollow and Ghost, but they have skill with their nail, I guess. They are such an oddball, it gives me second hand embarrassment almost. Our King must have a hard time dealing with him…”

“Please do not speak ill of His Highness,” was all Dris said after they disappeared behind a corridor. 

_ “Oh dear, is this what they meant by curiosity killed the fly…” _ thought a disheartened Monarch. He wished he hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and even if it was gossip, it still hurt like a bee’s sting.

\-- 

**“To whom this may concern,**

**You stunner! Do not think me rude, or crazy, or any negative adjective! I saw you with a tall fellow yesterday, and I even followed you for a bit. I see you know our Snail Shaman. He is very kind, isn’t he? Sorry to disappoint, but I just had to get this letter through to you! So you are a child of the Pale King? Did your heart sink? I promise, your secret is safe with me, Salubra of the Crossroads. If I was untrustworthy in any way, shape, or for, the Shaman wouldn’t have revealed your identity to me. I really just wanted to greet you though. I hope you like my gift--I run a jewelry shop remember! Please drop on by, you might discover something good. Have a very merry day, Your Highness.**

**\--Yours truly, Salubra of the Crossroads.”**

_ Ah.  _ Ghost remembered Salubra, though this letter was unexpected. They did not think they would go and visit her jewelry shop though. The thought of Salubra knowing their identity made them feel slightly fearful, but if Hollow trusted the Shaman, and the Shaman trusted Salubra…

“Ghost? Ghost! Hello there!”

Quirrel bounced happily towards Ghost, holding a couple of books. They wore a different handkerchief than they usually did, as this one was light green in color, exactly the color of Monomon the Teacher; what’s more is that it even had a tiny jellyfish symbol, and Ghost found it cute.

“Is that a letter? Someone has official business with Hallownest’s future leader already?”

The creature shook their head.

“No? Is it...fan mail? Wait, is it actually fan mail? From whom?”

And as Ghost explained who Salubra was, they couldn’t help but mention their escapade to dear Quirrel, who was shocked to their core--in fact, they were more shocked than that time they were electrocuted by one of Monomon’s little helpers. 

“Well I’m glad I found you here,” Quirrel began. “Originally, I was going to read in the library, but Monomom insisted I went out and into the courtyard. Of course, I felt hesitant at first, being that this is not my place of residence, but she said that it really was okay. And now here we are, spending some quality time together, and oh, I really can’t believe you just told me that, friend. I wonder where such an odd and gaudy group hails from. Perhaps I should go to that meager town and see them myself--”

Not noticing that Ghost nabbed the handkerchief from their friend’s head, Quirrel continued rambling, until he felt the Ancient Basin’s breeze make his antennas tingle. Whatever expression was painted on Ghost’s actual face could hardly be seen behind their pale mask, but from their body language alone, they seemed content to have a new accessory. 

“Oh! That’s quite the look for you! Considering you do not wear anything outstanding unless it is a formal day. Speaking of formal days, the Festival of the Fruit draws nearer and nearer! I can already smell the delicious aromas of our freshly brewed teas. Are you excited?”

Excited wasn’t the word, but Ghost felt more anxious than anything. The Festival of the Fruit gave all the youngest children across Hallownest a chance to shine and be praised; from anointings to dancing and epic battles at the Colosseum, it was one event foreigners could not hope to miss on their visits to the kingdom. For Ghost, the event was like a yearly debut to showcase their identity. Also, they couldn’t help but like their worth was solidified once the sun rose above the horizon, and everyone came out to celebrate them. 

Archaic creatures of Hallownest bore fruit time and time again; as generations did not cease to age, it was important that the youngest be bred to allow their society to flourish, so that more good fruit may be produced. Wisdom and good judgement was held by the eldest, the longest living, the ones who sought to maintain a traditional world steeped in progress that they acquired and nourished. Now, all a youth had to do was follow in their footsteps, and they and their predecessors would be rewarded; everyone would be able to enjoy the fruits of these intergenerational endeavors. That’s how it all began, and Hallownest’s creatures still observe their ancestor’s truths.

\-----

Angry, tired, frustrated, and just feeling a bit more worthless than usual; Monarch stormed into the Nailsmith’s shop, dark and rustic, and slammed his nail down onto the Smith’s work surface. He pulled the little stool near the entryway and sat facing the wall, saying nothing. 

“Eh?” murmured the grey bug.

And the Nailsmith looked at Prince Monarch with great dismay, but he felt pity too. 

“Your Highness, have you the ore in order for me to refurbish your nail?” 

Still, Monarch said nothing, for as long as the Nailsmith allowed him to, anyway. It had become a habit of Monarch’s to storm into the bug’s shop for comfort after something unpleasant happened to him. At first, it didn’t bother the Smith, but overtime, he wished Monarch would come in good spirits. His own dilemmas were too much sometimes, truthfully.

“Your Highness, please turn around and face me, and state with ardor what you desire. With ardor, now, Your Highness.”

That was a request Monarch had to deny, he was too downtrodden to understand the Nailsmith’s good intentions. 

“I uh,” began Monarch reluctantly, “I wish for you to polish my nail, yes. To make it stronger, and nicer looking, and more desirable, and worthy of all the love in this world—”

“That is quite enough, Your Highness, I understand,” said the grey bug firmly. “The nail is already worthy of all the love in this world, it just needs a little bit of work—”

And that was a sentence Monarch’s ego was too damaged to understand in that moment, because he looked at the Nailsmith with gloomy eyes, and he crossed his arms as if attempting to hug himself. 

“I-I need a little bit of work?” he whispered. “Please tell me, honored Smith, that the answer is sincerely no. Please.” 

With that, Monarch broke into tears, and then choked sobs, and the Nailsmith didn’t quite know what to do, but he knew that tears were one’s way of finding reconciliation with themselves. Crying hurt, but afterwards, your heart and soul thanked you for allowing them to breathe once more. That’s what a certain artist had told him once, anyhow. 

The Nailsmith pulled Monarch into a beautifully tender hug, quicklike, and he wondered how unlucky he’d have to be if the King or Queen or Great Knights showed up to interrupt this moment. No, he wished for that not to happen, with all his being; when had he last experienced a precious moment like this? He knew with whom, but the question of when it happened remained a mystery. 

“There, there, Your Highness, you are as whole as can be, rest assured. You won’t believe me today, but the day will come when you look back and see how worthy of all the love in the world you are.” 

Monarch held onto the Nailsmith for a while, with both arms. The Nailsmith eventually let one arm hang limp, but he continued to whisper sweet nothings to the struggling Prince, until his choked sobs became but feeble sniffles and then, steady and low breaths. Finally, both let their embraces break simultaneously.

“I never told you exactly what troubled me, just unpleasant things that have happened to me, so how did you know what to say to me?” Monarch questioned. 

Standing tall, hands on his sides, and a wistful gaze at the entryway to his shop, the Nailsmith shrugged, “When we get to spend enough time with someone to hear their stories, we can make our own inferences, and come to our own conclusions. I am glad I came to the right conclusion, Your Highness. I’m not always right about everything, though.”

Monarch sniffled, “What do you mean? Is it your turn to project your woes onto me?”

Laughing, the Nailsmith had to commend Prince Monarch for his brusque mannerisms and perceptiveness. Yes, maybe he needed to project, just this once, because the city was bluer than usual, and his client was sad, and it all made him remember sadness, too. Things in the past always happened so quickly, but memories did not fleet so fast. 

“If I may, Your Highness…”

“You may,” Monarch replied quickly. He sat down on his little stool and gave the Nailsmith his full attention. “Oh don’t look so worried, my honored smith. If anyone comes in here and questions your service, I’ll see to their beheading immediately. Now what is it you want to talk about?” 

“My woes.”

“But what about your woes,” said Monarch. “And what kinds of woes?”

What about his woes? How they still troubled him. And what kinds of woes? The best kind to talk about, and the worst kind to think of: the ones regarding what bugs called love. Prince Monarch listened to the Nailsmith talk about Paintmaster Sheo, and he was so mesmerized, he felt bad for being at a loss for words. He heard the tales of their meeting, and their love, and the eventual decline their relationship had experienced. Now, the Nailsmith had nothing but an old paintbrush in his cupboard, one that used to belong to Sheo. Its bristles were stiff, and dull, but they were stained with old paint, like a mark of love on a blackened heart. 

“Wow,” was all Monarch could reply. “You two were so very colorful. “I-I’m sorry to hear that happened. But where does Paintmaster Sheo reside now? He must be around these parts, no doubt!”

“And if he is, Your Highness? What of it?” the Nailsmith said while sitting down cross-legged. “It doesn’t matter anymore, these are old stories, as old as I am. No, I’m not old…”

Monarch looked at them softly.

“I just feel very old, Your Highness. I got to lose myself in my work for a time, but to be honest, you came around with your woes and troubled mind, and it stirred something within me. You’re a special kind of creature, I think, Your Highness.”

“You genuinely think so?”

“No,” the Nailsmith replied.

Monarch frowned, and the smith laughed loudly. “I merely jest.”

That felt good to hear, that felt really good to hear. 

For a while, both went quiet, probably to the thought of what just occurred. Eventually, the Nailsmith began working on Monarch’s blade, and Monarch sat beside him, watching intensely, but thinking and making plans. Monarch did like to think ahead. 

“I-I shall find Paintmaster Sheo!” he declared, knowing exactly what kind of mess he was getting himself into.

“What?! I mean, I beg your pardon Your Highness? Please,” said the Nailsmith, “do not trouble yourself with my problems. Things happened as they were supposed to have happened.”

“It’s not just about you, but about me too. I need a master, someone to teach me and be a friend in my craft, my craft of art. You know I like to paint, right?” the Prince said with a childlike demeanor. “I’ve always felt so lonely in the pursuit of my passion, and hearing about your long lost Sheo rekindled new hope in me, if that makes sense. And you, you’re lonely too…” 

Shrugging, but not truly meaning his indifference, the Nailsmith quickly replied. “I-I don’t know if lonely is the right word…” 

“Yearning?” suggested Monarch.

“That’s better.” 

For just a bit longer, the Nailsmith continued to improve upon Monarch’s nail, while the latter watched. Then, when everything was said and done, the Prince stood up adamantly, and set off on a mission. He didn’t know where the famed Paintmaster might be, but he felt like he had a pretty good idea.


	26. Rotten and Saved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter themes  
> Monarch and Ave: Valse N.1 by Tambour  
> vs. the assailants: Lacrimosa by Mozart

“That Lord Fool is a brave fool, asking me to consider such a proposal,” the Pale King told his wife. 

The two mighty creatures were actually reading letters in the Queen’s bedroom, some new and some old. No one alive knew of this pastime; they found it kind of fun. 

The White Lady’s room was as white as any other in the Palace; her most favorite thing about the room was the large jar that rested near the entrance, which housed various plants from Greenpath. 

“What did Lord Fool ask of you?” she questioned while fumbling with a new letter. “What sort of letter is this? Where is the insignia of official matters? Oh, and those attendants of ours dare to chat in excess right outside this very room, I can hear them, and I can hear them very well.” 

“Of course you can, my queen, you do have particularly sensitive hearing after all. And what do you mean where is the insignia? Do not concern yourself with it then. Don’t open it—”

“But how did it even get here,” she said while tearing it open impatiently. Her blue eyes were curious. 

“And you go ahead and open it, my oh my, what to do with you,” he said quietly. “What is it?”

Before answering, she scanned it thoroughly, then huffed. “It is ridiculous—it’s about some silly circus! In Dirtmouth, up at the top of our kingdom; why, I should have Dryya and Hegemol chase them off. They’re ruining our perfect image with their silliness and gaudiness, most likely—and I bet the townsfolk are eating it up!” 

“Throw it out. I do not want to hear of anything such as a circus,” croaked the Pale King; it appears the creature’s sickness was still prevalent. 

She gagged and then crumbled the letter up, a crude drawing of Grimm visible through the wrinkled paper. “How very unrefined those townsfolk must be to be entertaining vagabonds.”

“Anyways, let me entertain you a bit with our Lord Fool—”

“Yes, tell me all about it!” answered the White Lady excitedly. 

“To sum it up, Lord Fool would like to host a private event at the Colosseum of Fools for the Festival of the Fruit.”

Blinking, the White Lady gestured for the king to continue speaking.

“Do you see how the youngest from all around Hallownest arrive at the colosseum on that day in order to prove themselves and achieve riches and wonder and whatever us creatures please ourselves with?”

“Yes I do.”

“He suggested that our Ghost go and do what they do, and once they get to the very top, they officially achieve knighthood. What do you say?” asked the King.

She was unexpectedly delighted. “I like that idea. That’s brilliant, and we can invite creatures from all around Hallowest!”

The King didn’t know what to make of the last part of her statement. “Eh?”

“Well we’d be in hiding, obviously—I cannot have anyone who is anyone staring at our pale and radiant faces—but we’d have a bird’s eye view of everything too. What do you say this time?” 

After pondering on it for a few seconds, the Pale King came to the conclusion that the Queen’s idea wasn’t a bad one at all. And besides, it was high time for Ghost to truly and actually prove themselves. “I say we will do it—”

“Yes yes!”

“And engaging with the rest of Hallownest, in this one location? I say it is beneficial. I’ll have to thank Lord Fool later myself. Wait—why do you laugh?” inquired the King with confusion.

“I had a thought, let me tell you about it,” she said in a hushed tone.

He leaned towards the White Lady to better hear her. “What is it?”

“It is high time…” she paused and then looked at the terrarium in her room. The plants were growing just wonderfully; she always made sure of it. 

The Pale King sighed, “Do go on. I might just grow bored of your commentary soon.”

“It is high time we find a creature worthy of Hallownest’s future leader—and I say Lord Fool’s niece Gwendolyn is potentially perfect. Why don’t arrange for her to meet Ghost?”

Falling into a fit of cough, but feeling better seconds later, the King’s facial expression showed just how bewildered he was at the notion. Ghost’s future partner was something he thought of from time to time, but for it to come up again so soon—and from the Queen? 

“Well then, I cannot say I expected that—I’m not opposed. I trust that Lord Fool raised a worthy creature. We’d have to meet her too...don’t look at me with that excitement! If she proves to be anything less than worthy, I’ll just have Ghost pick out their own swain,” joked the King. 

“Oh goodness!” exclaimed the White Lady. “Only in my nightmares.” 

——

Just as Grimm had requested, Brumm obtained a map of Hallownest; the creature managed to locate it at the Maps and Wares shop with a bug named Cornifer. Unexpectedly, Cornifer invited Brumm to his so-called birthday feast, saying that newcomers were always welcome to celebrate joyous occasions with Dirtmouth’s townsfolk. 

_ “We love having guests; we aren’t haughty like those in the City of Tears! Please, come to my residence and let us feast.”  _

Brumm snorted. “What sort of business do I have at a “birthday” feast? Just what is a “birthday”, anyways?”

“What was that Brumm?” mused Grimm as he stared at the map of Hallownest, hanging upside down. “Oh, this place isn’t the largest kingdom, nor is it the smallest. How intriguing.” 

“Master, what’s a birthday?”

Grimm gave Brumm a blank stare before laughing. “I really don’t know. If we take it word for word, it sounds like the day a creature was born.”

It sounded stupid, thought the musician. “What could possibly be the significance of feasting for that?”

The Troupe Master didn’t know to be honest, but he liked finding things out. He was rather nosy. “Let’s attend this birthday feast.”

“What?! Really? Master?”

“My Troupe! We will be back! We’re going to attend a birthday feast! Come Brumm, let’s see what sort of significance this feast holds.” 

Reluctantly, Brumm got off his stool and waited for the Troupe Master to finish marking notes on the map with a quill. 

Twenty minutes later, Brumm and Grimm arrived at Cornifer’s house, and were greeted happily by a few bugs, including Myla and Tuk.

“Golly! He’s the circus leader!” Myla said in a hushed but excited tone. “Do I look presentable? Should I introduce myself formally?” 

Tuk laughed and shrugged. “He seems harmless. Why the heck not?” 

And just as Myla went over to state her name and job as a miner, Brumm accidentally bumped into her. He was certainly grouchy about it, but Myla was excited to see him too. 

“You played at the show!” 

_ “Is someone talking to me? Perhaps if I just ignore them…” _

“Is that the same instrument you played? The one you’re carrying on your back right now?” chirped the miner. “Think you can play a song for me?” 

Cornifer’s house was tiny,  _ too tiny.  _ A few creatures were sitting down on his bunk bed, and his wife Iselda was passing out refreshments to everyone behind a counter. Quite frankly, the happy, go lucky and friendly demeanor of everyone inside made Brumm sick. They all looked so carefree, so nonchalant and with only tomorrow to worry about.

He loathed it. 

“I only play at shows,” Brumm told Myla in a matter-of-fact manner. After that, he turned and went to find his master. 

“...Well alright. Maybe next time?”

Brumm didn’t respond. 

“Um, sorry…” Myla said shamefaced.

A few moments later, Grimm and Brumm found each other, and began chatting. 

“Ghost will carry out the ritual of this land.” 

“...Really?” Brumm replied. “Why them though?”

Iselda gave Grimm some delicious nectar, and the creature drank it hungrily. Some of the sugary juice dripped down the Troupe Leader’s face, and Brumm watched it fall onto his lap; for a just a few moments, the musician allowed himself to be enamored by his Master in this state. 

“I felt a hollowness in Ghost the other day, when I touched their mask.”

“You touched their mask?” said Brumm peevishly. Suddenly, he didn’t want to talk about Ghost anymore. 

“It was more of a rub. Anyways, I felt a hollowness, and if my assumption is correct, a hollowness leaves room for great influence.  _ My  _ influence, rather. Ghost  _ will  _ come back to us. It’s only a matter of time. When they do, everything will unfold.”

“I see.”

Cornifer’s wife passed by the duo again, and this time, she handed Brumm some nectar. 

“Is Ghost very strong, Master?” he asked. 

“They are, I know they are,” answered Grimm with satisfaction.

“They were able to beat you…” he said discreetly.

Grimm watched everyone chat their lives away with great interest, though he did not wish to join them. 

“What did you say?” said Grimm, unable to hear his comrade.

“Nothing, just taking notes.” 

——

Monarch was glad the meeting was over, because he had plans,  _ big  _ plans. 

He darted out the window he always snuck out from quickly and effortlessly, and snuck past all the sentries on his way to the Stag Station. At the station, Monarch found it kind of funny that he wore no disguise or anything because no one knew who he was, even though they were supposed to. That was a good thing though, because although common and even the average high class bug knew the King’s children existed, they had no idea what they looked like. Even if a bug was staring at Monarch right in the face, no one would think to guess they were a Prince of Hallownest. The creature laughed and wished that to be the case forever. 

A slimy, smelly purple worm sat down next to Monarch, very closely on the bench in the Ancient Basin. Ghost and Hollow would’ve at least felt the tiniest bit disgusted, but not Monarch; as a matter of fact, he was very intrigued. Small amounts of the worm’s lustrous slime seeped onto the bench and got on Monarch’s body; he felt icky, but never disgusted. 

“Ah, me sorry, me dirtied your nice body.” slurred the purple worm. 

“That doesn’t bother me,” replied Monarch. 

“Ah, it doesn’t bother you? Me is most happy to hear that. Me can’t go to the City of Tears East, or everyone laughs at me, they show disgust to me, but this is who I am,” the worm mused happily. “Me is Slimy.”

That was most relatable, thought Monarch. But he knew living like that surely came with hardships and consequences. Creatures of the City of Tears East were most cruel to commoners and other bugs they deemed outsiders or unworthy, Monarch knew this full well. But even so…

“What’s your name?” Monarch asked.

“Ah, me name is Ave,” said the worm happily. “Yours?”

“Uh, Berry. My name is Berry,” he lied. Just cause no one knew who he was didn’t mean he could be careless. 

Ave seemed pleased to have made a new friend. “Ah Berry? Very cute name, for bug with a very nice body and face.”

Just earlier, the Prince felt crestfallen because of the conversation he overheard from the palace servants. He didn’t forget about that, but he felt better instantly upon hearing the words of Ave. 

“Thank you Ave, you too have a very nice body and face--very unique.”

When Ave stood up, the sloshing noise of the slime followed her footsteps. She rung the stag bell after no stag was showing up, and at last, a stag arrived. Surprisingly, Ave requested that she ride the stag alone, because she was most used to it. Monarch wanted to converse with the unique worm more, but he respected this. 

“Get to your destination safely, Ave.”

“Me will, you too. Where you going?”

Greenpath, replied Monarch, to which Ave happily announced she was going there too, and that she’d probably see him there.

The lights of the Ancient Basin’s lamps flickered and faltered, and at times, they shone uncontrollably bright. They made Ave’s slime glisten like a precious gem. 

And Ave left, though Monarch got on the next Stag a mere five minutes later. 

As he neared his leafy destination, Monarch grew more and more excited to locate Paintmaster Sheo--maybe he and Ave could go together, if she wasn’t doing anything. 

Stags were very powerful, the earth seemingly shook as they galloped along the ground. Monarch’s green cloak drifted in the wind; this stag in particular went very fast, it almost took the Prince’s breath away. At one point a sharp turn caused Monarch to lurch forward, sending geo flying out of his pockets. 

At last, they arrived, with the stag leaving immediately after dropping the Prince off. Ave’s slime left a noticeable trail at the station, and Monarch followed it outside. He looked around, seeing as the trace ended eventually. He wondered where she went.

Without even so much as a noise for warning, a quick and shadowy figure came out from a bush and leaped at Monarch, using an interesting looking blade that clearly wasn’t a nail, although similar. This creature managed to graze Monarch, and blood leaked from the Prince’s side. 

“What?” he said in quiet amazement. 

“Ahaha I have found you, the King’s youngest child!” said the creature, who wore an all black robe, masking his appearance. “That disgusting worm creature led you to us, or rather, led us to you! Unfortunately, they refused to speak on our terms as to your whereabouts, so…”

Monarch’s eyes widened and he looked around frantically, but without dropping his guard. He pulled out his nail and got ready in case he was attacked again. “So? Where is Ave!?” 

“Slain! Just look, to your left, near the acid pits below us,” gestured the creature. 

The creature was correct, because Ave’s body lay there, sliced cleanly, face down. Monarch saw white after a piece of her fell into the sizzling acid. 

“We are not to be messed with!” said the hooded creature. 

Just what the hell was going on? And did these idiots really think he was Ghost? But why were they after them? Monarch felt extremely shaken up; too many thoughts were running through his head and getting tangled up with his emotions at what just happened. He wanted to cry, these monsters had just killed an innocent creature! Yet he wanted to fight and kill them for what they did to her, but he felt scared and incapable of this.

“We?!” questioned Monarch wildly. “What the hell do you mean by that?” 

Two, three, no, five and finally six hooded bugs made themselves known from behind the cover of bushes and leaves, amounting to seven in total. They came from all directions and pointed their weapons at the Prince. 

“This is what we mean,” replied the first hooded bug. 

Down below near the acid pits, Fleur secretly watched as Ave’s tail did not dissolve in the acid, surprising her. She stumbled upon the entire incident in her errand, and saw everything that happened. Truthfully, she did not wish to get involved, and decided to watch how this played out. She only came to locate Greenpath; subsequently, the presence of Grimmkin made it known that flames would indeed be here. 

Finally, the fighting started, but Monarch was unsure as to if this was a battle he could win alone. 

“I heard the King’s youngest child has a lot of potential and is very strong, let’s see how they fare against us,” said one of the assailants, laughing when Monarch barely managed to parry one of their jabs.

“Right now,” huffed another assailant, “he’s doing poorly! Are we sure this creature is truly of royal blood to be so weak?!” 

Said assailant grew very angry when Monarch evaded one of their attacks with his monarch wings and kicked him in the face. 

“Oh, what a nice surprise! Is this some kind of magical ability?” questioned one of the assailants who merely sat by and watched. “ _ That just won’t do, let’s see how you deal without it.” _

The next time Monarch tried to fly, he only jumped and could go no further, making him panic. Why couldn’t he use his wings? Unfortunately for the Prince, that same assailant who questioned him suppressed his ability using his own kind of magic.

_ “Poor thing,” _ thought Fleur.  _ “This doesn’t look too good.” _

And she watched as Monarch tried to dodge again, only to fail and get slashed.

And Fleur watched as Monarch grew more flighty in his fighting; she cringed when one of the assailants faked out Monarch, making the Prince flinch fiercely, causing everyone to laugh. At some point, it seemed like it was over for Monarch, but he wouldn’t be defeated yet, as he skillfully dodged a huge, simultaneous attack, and sent two of the bugs flying into the acid with a powerful sword swing. It was lights out for them. Fleur felt relieved for Monarch; he appeared very strong and seemed to be getting his act together.

But Monarch was already feeling very discouraged, and felt that was only a lucky shot. After all, he still had five more to go, and he still couldn’t use his monarch wings. With ill timing, negative thoughts filled the creature’s mind; he wondered if he’d fall here, and if these assailants would throw his mangled body into the acid, leading to him never being discovered. That’d likely bring some dishonor upon his family, because the citizens of Hallownest might think he ran away from his duties. Or would the King keep it a secret? He probably wasn’t good enough to be grieved anyways. If these bugs were truly after Ghost, and believed Monarch to be them, Monarch felt he might get a little bit of peace after death. No one would try and pursue Ghost anymore. 

“What’s this guy doing?!” Fleur said under her breath. “Look alive!”

One of the bugs first knocked the wind out of Monarch by kicking his side, and later used the hilt of his blade to send the Prince flying into the acid below them. He was going to die. 

Fleur thought she could bear to see destiny play out, but she could not. It reminded her of something, and this reminder caused her to spring into action. So she shot an arrow and it caught Monarch, pinning him to some earth nearby. The ladybug used her wonderfully accurate and precise skills with a bow and arrow to take down the assailants, though she only managed to kill two of them. She was having a pretty hard time dealing with the remaining creatures. Inspiration struck Fleur the moment she saved the Prince, it was clear by her bright and hopeful eyes. It drove an inner agenda she didn’t know existed. Monarch could only watch. As arrows and blades flew and clashed, Fleur wished Monarch would take a hint and help her; she didn’t even have time to breath--these bugs were bombarding her. 

No longer though, because Monarch stepped in, and the two of them managed to defeat the rest very quickly. The magic user who suppressed Monarch’s wings got the worst of it, as seen by the numerous arrows lodged in his body and his cut off head. 

By the conclusion of the fight, the ladybug was panting intensely, for she had not fought like that in a very long time. A once forgotten memory came up in her head, and Fleur remembered a time she fought like this, before she got engaged with the Grimm Troupe. 

_ “She was so cool…” _ Monarch thought earnestly _. “And her antennas are very cute, what an interesting shape.” _

“Thank you for saving me,” was all he could say. 

“I wish ya didn’t need to be saved,” she said tersely, and it made him wince. “But enough with being preoccupied with me, your little friend...she didn’t deserve what happened to her. Let’s give her a proper place to rest in peace.” 

Poor Ave, a sweet and kind soul he only just met, was gone, and that wouldn’t register in the Prince’s head; he didn’t think it would ever. He refused to believe she was gone. 

“I saw some pretty flowers near here, and some soft earth too. We can bury her there,” Fleur announced.

Earlier, the Nailsmith said Monarch was special, but right now, he didn’t feel special at all. Just rotten to the core. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕 Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying this story please consider   
> leaving kudos and subscribing 💕


	27. Expectation versus Reality

_ Mmm, life is never truly captured in one single glance; one might have to look twice at something, one might have to think twice about it.  _

_ Ghost has been chosen by the ritual and for the ritual; and I see why. Their circumstances were just fine. They’re just like us; connected to a fine thread, a fine thread which grounds them, but a fine thread which can easily be stretched out and broken. They remind me of a hollow vase filled with flowers--with some extra space inside. At first glance, Ghost might seem like a dimwit, totally hollow up in the head, but they are neither of those two things. Extra space leaves room for certain entities to move in and influence the mind and free will of anyone. Do you possess free will, Ghost? Do any of us in this world? That is the biggest question of life, the biggest question of them all. _

_ I don’t really like you, Ghost. I hate that you don’t know what’s in store for you, and I do.  _

_ I detest you. I don’t want you to get any closer.  _

_ Everything began eons ago, maybe. We aren’t the first, and we certainly won’t be the last. Lucky creatures are those who wake up and suddenly realize the desires they want to fulfill. Unlucky creatures are those who wake up and get a set purpose placed upon them; destiny holds their eyes open and makes them look at it, while fate takes them in with its dark arms. I used to be lucky, but my luck ran out, and my thread is close to breaking. The Grimm Troupe is not a death sentence, nor are we a death wish, we are a signal.  _

_ Ghost, do you know what it’s like to be stuck between a rock and a fiery place? We all do.  _

_ The ritual is really quite simple; you shall find the flames of this I daresay dying kingdom, and the rest will follow.  _

_ I don’t really like you, Ghost. So believe me when I tell you that I have chosen to play my part in all this; I will not be a death sentence nor a death wish; but a signal. Will you heed my call? _

_ \--- _

The hour passed, and so did dinner; Monarch came back just in time for it. Questions ran through their head, questions like why did they run into Ze’mer with a creature from the Mantis Tribe in Greenpath? They sat amongst the flowers, and Monarch’s better sensibilities told him not to interrupt. He was glad he wasn’t a Great Knight at this moment, because if he was, he would’ve had no choice but to intervene. Then there was the matter with Fleur, the mysterious and charming bug Monarch met, with the most nicely shaped antennas and weirdest accent he’s ever heard.

But most importantly, he found Paintmaster Sheo, hidden away in the deepest nook and cranny of Greenpath; thorns and other dangers riddled the area, and he didn’t think he could’ve reached the Paintmaster’s lodging without the help of Fleur. 

Monarch wanted to tell Ghost and Hollow all about it; he rushed to their quarters with eager steps, his nail resounding loudly as he strode down the palace. 

“Ghost?” he whispered loudly as he knocked on his siblings door. Nobody answered; perhaps they were asleep. So the Prince went to Hollow’s room and knocked twice, but nobody answered. How weird. 

Were they both asleep? Dear Radiance, but it was so early! He had much to detail, but it was going to have to wait. 

Thankfully, any wounds from earlier appeared to be mostly fine now; it was all thanks to Sheo. 

Speaking of Sheo, the paintmaster took his sketchbook and refused to give it back. 

\---

Ghost insisted on visiting the Grimm Troupe that night, but Hollow had no plans of letting them do so, especially after what happened last time. Hollow said if Ghost wanted to leave the palace, they’d have to challenge him to a battle. 

Though Ghost did no such thing, they promised that if Hollow went with them, they’d leave once the Prince decided it was time to go. That seemed fair, so the two of them left the White Palace in the cloak of darkness—literally.

Once they escaped through the window, Hollow gave Ghost a black cloak that would cover their entire head and body; Hollow wore one as well. They were gifts from the Snail Shaman, who decided they’d be most useful if Ghost and Hollow wanted to leave the palace undercover for some reason. Wearing cloaks and other garments of the sort was common around Hallownest, especially in towns like Dirtmouth and Crossroads’ Village; the two would blend right in. 

Surprisingly, the ride on the stag was quiet, even though Hollow tried to strike up conversation multiple times.

The Prince didn’t take too well to his one sided efforts, and felt like he was being ignored; Hollow grew irritated.

Some time later, the siblings landed in Dirtmouth, but things were far from perfect between the two.

Ghost pointed out the small flowers that lined Dirtmouth’s sidewalks and road, and the Graveyard in the distance too, but because Hollow was so already peeved from earlier, he didn’t respond with any enthusiasm. 

Instead, Hollow went and sat down on a lonely bench, and Ghost joined them. When Ghost tried to start up a conversation, their attempt was met with an indifferent response.

Various commoners talked amongst themselves in the dusky town of Dirtmouth, and being in their presence made Hollow feel uncomfortable and bored. Dirtmouth’s cloudy sky did catch his interest though, and he looked up to gaze at it longingly. Taking a quick whiff of the air, Hollow noted how it smelled burnt and funny. 

Not noticing that Ghost was staring at the marks on his neck, Hollow continued to stare at the sky. He stopped staring when heat met the sensitive, fleshy areas, and more annoyance and  _ anger  _ bubbled up in him. 

“Tch—ouch, Ghost!” snapped the Prince, rubbing his neck after his younger sibling touched it. “Really? What would possess you to do such a thing?” 

No response came though, cause Ghost stood up and started walking towards the Troupe’s tents; reluctantly, Hollow followed behind them. 

_ “Whatever. These townsfolk sure are small. They must not get adequate nutrition or something?”  _ Hollow pondered.  _ “This is a sound little hamlet—that bulletin over there is interesting, very messy. Why is there a great deal of mess sprawled all over it?” _

“I just don’t understand!” exclaimed Myla from a distance, loud enough for Hollow to hear. “It wasn’t my intention to be pushy, like at all. Gah, I’d feel embarrassed to even go around them again…”

Tuk disagreed with her housemate. “You weren’t too pushy at all--that troupe is just mean and nasty!”—Tuk nodded assuringly when Myla pouted—“They always gave me a bad feeling, I just never told you, I didn’t want to kill your excitement…”

_ “Mean and bad feelings?”  _

First impressions are certainly very important, and Hollow’s impression of the Grimm Troupe began to tarnish already. 

“Ghost?”

Stopping right in front of the tents’ torches, the young knight turned around and waited for Hollow to say something, seeing as he called their name, but he wasn’t saying anything. 

_ “This doesn’t feel right...but maybe I’m overthinking this...maybe I should give these creatures a chance.” _

Rather than voice any concern, Hollow responded with, “After you” and allowed their sibling to lead the way inside. 

The inside of the tent was loud,  _ extremely  _ loud, and that was because the Troupe was playing games together. First and foremost, no Grimm Troupe game night was complete without Grimm humbugging his fellow members; this time, the game was really quite simple--in Grimm’s eyes of course. Five geo would be engulfed in a single flame, and said flame would be split into three; all the members had to do was guess where the geo was, and if they did, they’d get the geo. But Grimm never let them win. He always hid the geo behind his body without them noticing. 

“It’s...flame number two!” shrieked Pea. “The inside of the flame looks particularly dark.”

And the flame disappeared, but nothing fell out, and the tiny termite groaned. 

“Tsk tsk Sweet Little Pea, you almost had it,” Grimm cooed sympathetically, patting her on the head. “You were very close, let me tell you.”

“No I wasn’t, two is right in the middle of one and three!”

Fleur laughed, “A fifty-fifty! You’ll figure it out next time.”

“Hmph!”—Pea adjusted her mask—“I don’t need your condolences!” 

Fleur laughed again, because Sweet Pea could be so fiery for no reason sometimes. 

“Hey,” Pea began softly, “is that Ghost at the entrance there?” 

It most certainly was, and Pea felt satisfaction. “I knew they’d be back! I’m never wrong, but stupid Mar was insisting that they’d never return—Sincere don’t laugh! You were thinking the same thing, you actually seemed more concerned than all of us.”

He raised a pincer, “I wasn’t concerned, I just wanted to see it with my own eyes. I always wait, I’m very patient.”

“Whatever, I’m going to sleep!” Pea yelled, scurrying into the shadows. 

Hollow took everything in all at once, but to be honest, he didn’t like what he saw. The tent was a distasteful scarlet color, with  _ weird _ decor, and eerie torches were lit up— _ everywhere.  _ Several members wore uncanny looking masks, with the exception of the spotted bug with the bow and arrows. A lone musician was off in the distance, just playing a sinister song on their accordion, but keeping close eye on Ghost and Grimm’s interactions. 

“I expected you’d be back, and you brought a guest,” Grimm said skittishly. “Who are you? How do you know Ghost?”

Grimm’s very voice was so ghostly and deep, Hollow felt as if it couldn’t be of this world.

“I should be the one asking you all that,” Hollow said in a serious manner. “But Ghost told me everything, so-”

“You don’t have to sound so tense...”—Grimm gazed at Hollow as he played with fire—“we don’t bite, we’re just a circus-”

“Please, I don’t appreciate being interrupted, or bombarded with assumptions about what I think, either.”

Hollow held onto Ghost’s cloak—he did it instinctively, as he felt extremely careful of the current environment they were in. 

“Hey Mr. Tall Guest,” said Mar flirtatiously, “you’re certainly very lively, I like that, but don’t be too brave as to talk to Master in such a way. We don’t appreciate it.”

“We certainly don’t,” Sincere concurred gravely—his sudden change in demeanor made Ghost shiver. Everyone went silent, but deadly looks were almost certainly being exchanged; Fleur didn’t like what was going on right now, and she felt more worried than anything. For a few moments, she analyzed Hollow and Ghost together, and came to a conclusion.

“Are ya related? Are ya siblings?” Fleur questioned to hopefully break any ice that began to freeze. “Ya look very similar to Ghost! Just my observation.” 

_ “Siblings?”  _ thought Brumm.  _ “I hope not.”  _

Unlike the others, Fleur actually gave Hollow a good feeling. “Yes we’re siblings.”

To be honest, Fleur thought Monarch looked  _ almost exactly _ like them, but she didn’t want to be too nosy and ask if they knew him. What difference did it make, anyways? 

“Siblings you say?” Grimm said. “You’re very lucky to have Ghost as a sibling, they’re really quite special and interesting, I can just...feel it.” 

_ “Master, what are you doing?”  _ Brumm wondered as he gazed at the interaction unfolding, not knowing what would happen next. 

“They really, truly are,” Hollow said, admiring Ghost and squeezing their shoulders gently. 

“So Ghost,” Grimm crooned, “because everyone here agrees that you are simply  _ so  _ special and interesting, allow me to give you this charm—it’s a keepsake. Keep it safe.”

But before Grimm could even hand them the charm, Hollow intercepted him. “Wait, a charm? What kind of charm? What is that-”

“Questions, so many questions, it’s simply a keepsake, for the memories of today’s interaction,” replied Grimm with a twinkle. He outstretched his hand with the charm, waiting for Ghost to make the move that he wanted. “Go on and take it,  _ I  _ insist—the choice is yours.” 

Ghost felt their mind racing; did Grimm really think they were special and interesting? And was he actually giving him this charm to remember him by? Hollow didn’t need to be so cautious, really, Ghost was sure of that. They looked at everyone in the Troupe for some kind of reassurance, and they got it. Brumm met their gaze, and swallowed hard, but continued playing.

Hollow felt as if Grimm was trying to get Ghost  _ not  _ to think about their actions, and wouldn’t stand for it.

“Are you sure it’s wise to be taking items like charms from some circus?” Hollow questioned disapprovingly, side-eyeing a smiling Grimm. “Furthermore, charms can be complex objects, they aren’t as simple to just be keepsakes, surely you know this?”

And Ghost nodded, and their eyes ranged from Hollow to Grimm’s scarlet red eyes; the Troupe Master gave them a very convincing smile before mouthing “go on”. The situation was perfectly tempting, even with Hollow’s constant objections towards everything; it was clear Ghost’s mind was in other places and already made up. 

With little hesitation, they took the charm; it felt warm in their hands, almost alive. One thing was for certain was that Ghost felt happy tonight. 

“So splendid!” Grimm remarked while clapping; Hollow narrowed his eyes. He really wanted to go now. 

“I’m tired of hearing all this dialogue, I’m sleepy...”—Pea squeaked, coming out from the shadows—“have you given Ghost the child yet?” 

_ “Child? What child? What is this microscopic creature talking about?”  _ Hollow knew it  _ had _ to be about the charm. “What sort of anomalous games are you up to?” he said, sizing Grimm up accordingly. 

Ghost grabbed his arm, but The Prince shoved him away and gave him a nasty, disappointed look. “You  _ will  _ tell me about what that creature means in regards to the charm, or-”

Mar and Sincere flipped the script quickly, and in the matter of a few seconds, they both got into fighting stances; Mar donned a trusty scimitar, and Sincere his own pincers. A creature as strong and skilled as Sincere needed no sort of weapon—his poison and body parts were lethal enough. “Or else what?” Sincere hissed, approaching Hollow without any fear whatsoever. “What’s done is done, accept it and move on, or we will have problems.” 

“Are you challenging me?” Hollow spat, taking this time to observe his enemies’ attributes. 

Mar stood closely behind his comrade—“You simply are so lively and energetic, I enjoy that.” The butterfly sauntered past Sincere and towards Ghost, giving them a wave, and making Hollow attack first. 

In one fell swoop, Sincere caught the Prince’s nail, although he let go almost immediately when Hollow released a sword beam into his pincer. 

“It appears you are the one who challenged us first, Mr. Tall Sibling,” said Mar. “We will simply defend our own.”

The next attack came from Hollow yet again, but it was stopped by young Ghost, who shook their head as if saying “Don’t do this.” 

Deep, dark eyes stared at one another; one was unreadable in their emotion and understanding, but the other was clearly discernible. The feeling there was too soft to be hatred, yet the way Hollow shook his head and hardened his grip on his nail indicated that he not only felt disappointed, but betrayed in that moment. “Ghost”—Hollow attempted to talk coolly—“let’s just go—remember what you said? You’d leave when I decided it was time to go.”

As everyone watched things play out, a small creature manifested itself in that moment from Ghost’s charm. He went by the name of Grimmchild, and he spun around a few times before hiding himself—Hollow was in disbelief.

“You’re coming with me, right? And leaving that...thing here?” said Hollow, nearly pleading; it made Fleur’s heart drop a bit. Brumm didn’t like the tension—he decided to ease the tension with song. That was all he could do. 

Troupe Master Grimm was content to see their spawn; after that, he whirled around and disappeared. 

_ “Mmm, did you leave because you unconsciously can’t bear to watch, Master?”  _

“ _ You said you’d leave when I decided it was time to go _ ,” Hollow repeated in his head with resentment. “My disappointment in you is heartfelt,” he said quietly, never missing a beat. “Okay Ghost, I’m leaving...see you back home.”

Normally, it should hurt when one of your biggest supporters voices their utmost disappointment towards you. But thanks to the Pale King, it didn’t for Ghost; not on that occasion at least. 

Five minutes later, Hollow was gone and on his way back to the White Palace, telling himself that he’d never involve himself in Ghost’s affairs from here on out. 

“We’re uh, going to practice for an upcoming show...do ya want to help us?” Fleur asked Ghost uncertainly; they didn’t respond.

“Mmm, or you could sit around here and do nothing all night, waste our time,” Brumm asserted. “There’s work to be done, so if you could make a decision, that would be great.”

Ghost perked up, and Brumm finished up his song before speaking again. “You can get to know us—there’s a lot to be known.” 

———

A letter, a very important letter, with a very important seal arrived at Lord Fool’s residence not too long after he sent his proposal out to the Pale King. Hungrily, and with a deep anxiety, the warrior opened it; his stress rose to new levels, as evidenced by the sweat coming from his hands. This was not just any old letter; a response from the King meant everything to the common or classy bug of Hallownest. So while Lord Fool could be in a position to communicate with the Pale King back and forth, he still revered him deeply, and was always anxiously awaiting any opportunity which might favor him, and haul him closer to the dear King. 

Some time ago, a rupture in the foundation above the City of Tears caused water from the caverns above to trickle down, just like rain; bugs would be sent out to try and fix the cracks above, but some always managed to find their way back. Word of this was sent out to Xero and Hegemol, who often oversaw affairs in the City of Tears together; when they went to investigate, they heard, surprisingly, just how much the posh residents of the city liked the imitation rainfall--they found it quaint and of regal atmosphere. Then, Xero and Hegemol sent out an official statement to the creatures of the city, where they emphasized just how important and valued the citizens’ opinions were, and thus, they decided to keep it as was. Of course, they also made sure to emphasize that never in a million years would there be the threat of a flood. Lord Fool really liked the rain; it helped him get into moods which he would otherwise suppress. Now, he was using it as the perfect ambiance to try and calm him down from the King’s letter.

But it grew increasingly more difficult.

Because for starters, the King accepted Lord Fool’s own proposal regarding the festival.

With ill timing though, he brought up a proposal of his own, one that involved Miss God Tamer. An eye for an eye, as the saying goes; Lord Fool did not have the heart to reject the King. Besides, this was a potentially very good thing! A very good thing, indeed!

Lord Fool nervously dipped his quill into some ink--and wrote for a while--but clumsily managed to spill it all over his lavish desk, and on himself too. 

He didn’t think it’d stain his very expensive garments. Perhaps he could go outside, and take a nice long walk in the rain to wash it off-

“Hello there you glamorous bug,” Gwen said as she arrived home, wearing a long dress which matched her mask. “Hm...you’re going to say something, I see it in your eyes, but you don’t need to say anything--I’m doing okay.”

She was soaking wet, and Lord Fool wondered why she decided to wear those nice garments out without any sort of cover. At least the water wouldn’t stain, unlike his spilled ink. 

And Gwendolyn walked around their home, paying no mind to how she wet the floor; she seemed to be in a good mood. “You look like you want to tell me something...”--Gwendolyn sat down on a chair and crossed her legs--“I think?”

It wasn’t too late to take a nice long walk in the rain, but Lord Fool wanted to give his King an answer as soon as possible, so he decided he’d tell Gwen all about the letter’s contents. In the bug’s stomach, uneasiness and anxiety brewed; his clammy hands and inability to look at Gwen in the eyes were a giveaway. 

So he explained to her everything; then, without letting her voice her thoughts, Lord Fool talked about all the good and the great which could come about from a union between the King’s child and Gwen--it was all too perfect. He got ahead of himself. 

“What are you so happy for? Huh?” questioned a vexxed Gwen. 

“What do you mean what am I so happy for? This proposal--”

Gwen scoffed, “Surely you don’t mean to send out an answer to the King today? You’ve just informed me of this, and I don’t think I really feel the best anyways. It’s the anniversary of my father’s death…”

Something caught God Tamer’s eyes, and it was the ink spilled onto Lord Fool’s desk, as well as the letter which was being prepared prior to that. 

“Were you going to send out an answer to the King without asking me first?” Gwen said, disbelief manifesting in her eyes.

“What? No! Su-such accusation--” Lord Fool said as if he himself didn’t believe that. 

“I wasn’t accusing you!” Gwendolyn said with a raised voice, which grew louder by the second, “I was asking a simple question, but now that I see you think I was accusing you--”

Whilst he was being yelled at, the only place Lord Fool’s mind ran off to was what Boss would have done instead. 

“You must have been preparing a nice story for the King to hear! Is that not just the sweetest thing! Does this King even know that today is a very important day for our mourning?”

“Intruding on our mourning was surely not my King’s intention-” Lord Fool began, only to be interrupted again; he felt lots and lots of pain from Gwen’s next statement. 

“Are you mourning, or writing letters to the King? My only thoughts today were to take a walk and proceed home to stare at the rain, hoping Father sees us and gives us a message of his presence, so that we might not feel so lonely…”--Gwen’s voice cracked--”but you had other things in mind which could have waited.”

No, Gwen was wrong, he may have been writing letters, but deep down, today was especially hard on Lord Fool; the constant question of whether he was a good enough father figure in Boss’ place never ceased to haunt him. He didn’t have the heart to continue this conversation, but neither did Gwen, because she stormed out and did not return for several hours. 

\--

Lord Fool stared at the rain, but not really. The little gaps in the rain, that’s what Lord Fool stared at, with blank and distraught eyes. He tuned out everything else, and before he knew it, he began weeping. Everything came down all at once, and he found himself unable to stop; with ink still on his clothing and all set in, there was no hope of washing it out now. Could it even have washed out in the first place? 

Increasingly, Lord Fool’s sobs got louder and louder, matching the City of Tears’ own waterworks. He felt cold; he missed his daughter, she who felt like his daughter. 

But with impeccable timing, Gwendolyn came back, and she had a lot to say.

“I’m sorry,” she said before the crying bug could even say anything. “Please, do not continue to weep, there’s already sadness in my heart, but I do not want yours to be included in there.”

It took a minute, but Lord Fool ceased his crying, and immediately, he spoke out to his daughter. “No, I am sorry, I did an atrocious thing today. You, you should have been here to give me your answer even before I thought about it, and I--this day is so important to you and I, but--here I was-” Lord Fool again, had to gain some composure. 

“No, really, I understand completely,” Gwen said, not missing a beat. She sat down next to Lord Fool, and gave the creature a subtle kiss, wanting to ease any left over tensions between them. She too felt regret--because Gwen hated being so emotional. “I know how important your status is, I know you have no ill will against me, I see it all with clear eyes. You’re merely taking advantage of a wonderful opportunity--and with brave steps--I think I will too. 

Blinking away the last remaining tears, Lord Fool perked up in surprise. “Just what do you mean by that, my child? Explain yourself at once. 

“I think, if I get involved with this future ruler of Hallownest, I’ll get to make sense of myself, my feelings and emotions, for I’m afraid of a lot of things and one of those things is love and intimacy, and connection, especially. But I want to be afraid no more, I want to regret no more. My Beasts and my Colosseum, and you”--she laughed--“cannot be the only things I have going for me.”

As rain poured down onto their windows, Lord Fool and Gwen took a few moments to admire its fleeting wetness and beauty; it was really such a nice sight to behold together. Gwen decided to use this time to hug Lord Fool. 


End file.
